#warning I’m about to be so fucking brutally honest in the post and the tags

[camping-with-monsters]

Kind of a rant with full offense but I genuinely despise all the hate Geeta gets as a champion. Yes her battle was a pushover. You have exactly 1 fire type which could totally be your token “overleveled starter” and she’s basically done for. But as a character? She’s not that bland— not from everyone else’s standpoints. Specifically the gym leaders.

First of all, everyone forgets she’s not even the final battle of the Victory Road storyline. Second of all, the fact that in the post game when you rematch all the gym leaders, many of them seem to react somewhat brashly thinking that you are Geeta (as far as I remember. Cause like. I think they’re supposed to have some sort of meeting I guess but Geeta sends you to take care of matters instead.) Many of them mention Geeta having a weird aura— a bewitching aura even (quote taken specifically from gym leader Tulip.) and she seems to rub a lot of the gym leaders the wrong way mentally. People seem to forget that she’s blatantly supposed to be a character shrouded in mystery but everyone and their mom wanna pin the blame on the rock flower she sends at the end of her battle for why she’s a bad champion. Y’all are focusing on the wrong material. Yes, her battle is pretty decently hyped and is a let down because yeah, she’s got a weird ass team and doesn’t use Kingambit or Glimmora’s ability the “right way” and that “Gamefreak doesn’t know how to make a good game” as if most of y’all weren’t crying at the mere concept of Arven’s whole motive for his storyline. Y’all ain’t slick.

Glimmora as her ace is genius. Not because of the battle standpoint— in that regard, it’s of course used very poorly considering it’s hazard setting gimmick. This is introducing the importance of this Pokémon and the lore of Paldea as a whole. Glimmet and Glimmora have something to do with the origins of Area Zero. The way it’s found in large abundances— the emphasis on the Pokémon in general in the endgame. It’s supposed to display it’s importance and not much else. Maybe even give way to whatever is going on in the DLC. It’s called “The Hidden Treasures Of Area Zero” for goodness sake! I firmly believe that when the DLCs come out, we will be getting some major answers to some questions. Why does she battle so carelessly? Why does she emit such a bewitching aura? Why is Nemona oblivious to this? Why is Geeta just… like that? What! Is! Geeta’s! Deal!?

Geeta is a character with so much opportunity for open speculation. She is a character we are supposed to be theorizing on. She’s a character we are supposed to be learning more about as time goes on.

But all y’all wanna focus on her easy ass battle. Hmph.

#The Kiwi Speaks #warning I’m about to be so fucking brutally honest in the post and the tags #/ neg #FULL offense but Geeta is a really solid character BECAUSE of the speculative opportunity #People are so unnecessarily mean to Geeta like. #WE STILL GOT 2 WAVES OF DLC MY GUY #GET OFF HER ASS MAN. LET THE WOMAN BREATHE DAMMIT #“we’re so sorry for bullying you diantha wahhh” #STOP FUCKIN CRYING BITCH. WAH WAH WAH. I DONT WANNA FUCKIN HEAR IT /ref #okay genuinely just. I really like Geeta okay #I think she has a really interesting concept behind her #we have a champion who doesn’t know how to be a champion #and thinks she knows exactly what she’s doing when she doesn’t #but is still considered top champion #and you’re left to question what happened #WHY DO PEOPLE HATE THIS CONCEPT SO MUCH???? #I’m sorry but I will DEFEND Scarlet and Violet and DEFEND Geeta whether you like it or not #y’all jump on the hate bandwagon so fucking fast. can we please for the love of fuck let the DLCs happen #sorry but Pokemon Fans make me mad sometimes <3 #why do people choose to relentlessly hate a character for not living up to expectations #she’s not even the final battle man #I promise you—you’ll hear it here first I guess— that I think her battle is like that on purpose #Pokémon #pokémon scarlet and violet #pokémon scarlet #pokemon scarvio #Pokémon violet #Geeta #geeta pokemon #Pokemon Spoilers

[joelsgreys]

to hell and back l two

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l main masterlist l next chapter

summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. canon violence, canon language, reader has a flashback, mentions of slavers, implied threat of assault, guns, reader gets groped, reader has a panic attack, a lot of angst, trauma. soft Joel, protective Joel, and i even threw in some domestic Joel because just imagine that old man making you a nice lil late night snack. 🥹 i think i got most of the major warnings out of the way, i’m sorry if i missed anything!

Word Count: 8.7k

Smoke was coming off my jacket

and you didn’t seem to mind

I left a long trail of ashes and

you said, I like your style

California l Spring, 2023

Your hand trembled slightly as you gripped your pistol and aimed it at his chest.

You’d never pointed your gun at another human being before. At least not one that was still alive.

“Hey now, it’s alright. You can trust us.”

Anxiously, you glimpsed from the man who had just spoken to the woman who stood beside him.

Surely the two had to be related. Both possessed the same fiery red hair, a face full of freckles, and vivid green eyes. They stood before you with their weapons lowered in an attempt to show you that they weren’t a threat to your safety. 

The man, who had to be in his mid to late thirties, moved to step forward, but halted in his tracks when he caught sight of the way your finger had twitched over the trigger. “My name is Mark,” he said, carefully gesturing to himself with his free hand. In his opposite hand, he clutched his rifle, an assault style weapon that made your gun look like a fucking toy in comparison. Still, it was you who had the upper hand, at least for now. “This here is my sister. Her name is Jessa.” He paused and when you said nothing, he asked, “Can you tell us your name?”

Chewing your bottom lip, you shook your head at him in response. 

You didn’t trust them.

Not quite yet.

Jessa, who was younger and looked to be closer to your own age, offered you a kind smile. “That’s alright. You don’t have to tell us your name until you feel comfortable.” She took a look around at the small, makeshift camp that you had made for yourself. “Are you all by yourself, sweets?”

You quickly wracked your brain. 

“No,” You fibbed. “I’m with my father. He should be back any minute now. He’s armed and he does not take all too kindly to strangers, so you’d best be on your way before he sees you.” You added in a steadier tone, “He won’t even think twice. He’ll just kill you on the spot, so you better leave right now. Or else.”

Amused, Mark let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, come on now, dollface. You don’t have to lie to us,” he stated, shaking his head. “Let’s try this again and let’s be honest this time, alright? How long have you been alone?”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed harshly. 

Fuck.

He had seen right through the bullshit threat. 

“For about three or four days now,” You admitted, your shoulders sagging in defeat. “I was with my father and my sister. The three of us were on our way up north. We were trying to get to Seattle to the quarantine zone, but then they were—”

You suddenly stopped.

It felt like someone had driven their fist right into your gut, knocking all the wind out of your lungs and hindering your ability to speak.

You couldn’t even say it out loud.

Gruesome images of them being torn apart limb from limb flashed through your mind. Bile slowly started climbing its way up your throat and your stomach churned violently.

You were going to be sick.

“Are they both dead?” Mark questioned you.

You nodded, whispering shakily, “Yes.”

Jessa frowned. “I’m so sorry for your loss, honey. If it’s any consolation, me and Mark know exactly how it feels. We lost our entire family about three years ago. It’s the hardest thing we’ve ever been through.” Swinging back her own rifle behind her, she approached you and reached out, placing her hand over yours—the one that was still clutching your weapon. She didn’t even so much as flinch at the way the barrel was now pointed at her, how it was just an inch or two away from her chest. It didn’t seem to faze her that all it would take was you bringing your index finger down a bit harder on the trigger and she would be dead. “We know you must be fucking terrified, but it’s okay. You can trust us. We’re good, honest people and we just want to help you. But we can’t do that if you try and kill us, now can we?”

Slowly, Jessa guided you to lower your gun. She then looked over her shoulder, exchanging a look with her brother, as if asking him to back her up.

“Yeah. She’s right. We just want to help you,” he repeated after her. “We aren’t going to hurt you. If we wanted to, we probably would have by now, don’t you think so?”

You let out a tiny breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding and loosened your iron grip on your pistol.

He did make a fair point.

Now that your gun was pointed at the ground, he could have easily killed you. And yet, he’d made no move to blow your fucking head off. 

Maybe they really were good people.

But what if they weren’t?

What if it was just a trap?

You didn’t know what to fucking think.

All you knew was that you were so helplessly lost now that your family was gone.

You were afraid.

Alone.

Jessa turned back to you. “Listen, we’re part of a settlement,” she informed you. “It’s not all too far from here, maybe six or seven miles tops. We’ve got a really big group of people and we’re always looking to bring in anyone in need. Come with us, sweets. There’s plenty of food, water, and we can you into some fresh, clean clothes too. How does that sound?” 

You momentarily hesitated, still unsure whether or not you could trust the two strangers. 

How did it sound?

It sounded too fucking good to be true.

“It’s a safe place,” Mark assured you from behind her. He could see the reluctance written all over your face. 

“It’s as safe as safe can be,” Jessa promised. She touched your arm and flashed you another smile, one that was more kind than the first—one that was so comforting it made you feel like you could actually trust her. “So? What do you say? Will you come back with us? Will you let us help you?”

You nervously bit the inside of your cheek.

Scared, starving, and exhausted, their offer for a safe haven was much too tempting to decline.

Besides, how long could you possibly survive out here all on your own?

“Alright,” You finally agreed after a moment. “I’ll come with you.”

“There’s just one condition,” Mark stated, falling into step beside his sister in front of you. “We’re going to need you to hand over your weapon.”

“What?” You stared at him. “Why?”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s protocol,” he said, waving a hand dismissively at you. “It’s purely for safety reasons. Anyone who comes into our group must surrender their weapons. We want to be sure that we’re bringing in someone who isn’t going to be a threat to our people. We have children, so we just want to be cautious, you know?”

“I guess that does makes sense,” You admitted. 

“You’ll get it back,” Jessa reassured you. “Once you speak to the council and they determine you aren’t a threat, you’ll get your gun back. Okay?”

Left with very little choice, you agreed. “Okay.”

Mark held out his hand for the weapon.

Slowly, you placed your pistol in his open palm.

“Perfect.” Jessa chirped. “Now grab your things and let’s get going. If we hurry up, we can make it back before nightfall.”

Nodding, you turned around to grab your pack. 

The second you turned your back, the barrel of the same gun you’d just handed to Mark poked you between your shoulder blades and you froze, your blood running cold in your veins.

“Hands up, bitch,” Jessa commanded. Her warm and friendly tone had vanished. “And turn around towards me slowly. Now.”

Terrified, you did as you were told and you lifted both of your hands, turning around on the heel of your sneaker to face her.

Her expression, much like her tone, was frigid.

Hostile.

“You’re going to do exactly as I say when I say it.” She held up her rifle, aiming it at you. “And if you don’t, you fucking die. Do you understand?”

“Please,” You choked out. “Don’t—”

“Do you fucking understand?” Jessa repeated in a hiss, her finger hovering over the trigger. When she was met with a small, meek nod, she turned to look at her brother. “Cuff her.”

Mark smirked. He tucked your gun away into the waistband of his jeans and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pair of rusted handcuffs. He walked around and stood behind you, instructing, “Hands behind your back.” Once he had both of your wrists in one hand, he used the other to slip on the cuffs, tightening them so hard that the old oxidized steel dug painfully into your skin. “She’s a pretty one,” he murmured. As soon as he made certain the cuffs were securely fastened, he put a hand on your ass, groping it roughly. “Oh, you’re going to be popular with the guys, dollface. Kind of makes me want to break you in, right here and right now—give me a few minutes with her, Jess.”

Completely paralyzed with fear, all you could do was stand there in silence as his hands continued to roam your lower body, feeling you up through your jeans. He squeezed at your inner thigh, then brushed up over your zipper.

“Mark! That’s not what she’s for, you idiot,” Jessa reminded him, rolling her eyes. “Now quit fucking around and let’s start heading back to camp.”

She whirled around and started leading the way.

Mark grinned and pressed his mouth to your ear as he whispered in cruel reassurance, “Don’t you worry, now. I’ll get my chance with you—we’re all going to our chance with you.”

He grabbed you by your upper arm and roughly shoved you forward, leading you to what would inevitably be hell on earth.

Joel leans against the tree with his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes are fixed intently on you, carefully observing you from where he stands, more so out of concern rather than curiosity. Something isn’t right.

It’s late in the afternoon and the two of you had been about halfway into the six hour trek down south to Jackson when Joel offered to stop for a while, just long enough for the both of you to rest and take a quick breather, find a second wind before finishing the journey—but as he continues watching you, Joel starts to realize that perhaps stopping had done you much more harm than it’s done you good. 

Just a few feet away from where he’s standing and keeping a watchful eye on you, you sit perched on top of a small, flat boulder hugging your knees up to your chest with both hands wrapped tightly around the grip of your pistol. 

You’re in a trance like state, staring straight off into the distance at nothing in particular. Your face is completely blank. Emotionless. It appears that while all the lights are on, nobody is fucking home. 

Squinting against the sunlight, Joel takes a closer look at you. He sees it so clearly, the faraway look in your eyes. 

You are gone. You’ve checked out and completely disconnected from reality. 

He would go as far as saying you’ve disconnected from this fucking planet.

You’re sinking, slowly drowning in some kind of thought or perhaps it was a memory—whatever it is that’s currently preoccupying your mind, it sure as hell isn’t anything good. He has no fucking clue how he’d managed to clock it so easily, so quickly, but Joel had sensed something was wrong the instant you’d drifted off. 

The deeper you go and the further you lose yourself, the harder your hands clutch at your grin, the thin delicate skin on your knuckles stretching taught over the bones. It’s not until Joel notices the way your chest begins to rise and fall rapidly as your breaths quicken, the way you start struggling for air, that he knows it’s time for him to intervene before you worsen and suffocate under the weight of whatever it is that’s sitting so heavily on you. 

Pushing himself away from the tree, Joel begins to approach you, taking extra care so as not to spook you into turning your pistol on him and pulling the trigger in a moment of panic. He lifts both of his hands and holds them out in front of him. Cautiously, Joel makes his way over towards where you’re sitting on the boulder, his footsteps slow and careful. 

“Hey,” he calls out to you, keeping his tone firm, but somehow still gentle as he tries to garner your attention. When you don’t even acknowledge him or his presence, he tries again, speaking a little bit louder. “Hey. S’okay. S’alright. Everythin’ is alright—come on back now.” Joel draws closer and closer to you, taking tiny step after tiny step on the steel toes of his worn, black leather boots. “S’alright, darlin’. I need you to come back to me now, okay? You ain’t where you think you are. You’re alright—”

The sound of a twig snapping underneath his boot startles you. Jumping to your feet, you aim your gun at him with shaking hands and wild, terrified eyes. 

Even as your finger trembles over the trigger, Joel remains calm. “Hey, c’mon. Take it easy. S’okay. You’re alright. Look, it’s me. It’s just me and I ain’t gonna do anythin’ to hurt you,” he swears. He shows you his empty hands, hoping that you would be able to snap out of it and realize that he isn’t a threat. That you aren’t in any kind of danger. But as you hold your weapon, chest heaving as you panic, Joel knows it doesn’t matter that his hands are empty. It doesn’t make a fucking difference. He knows it isn’t him who is standing in front of you.

It’s someone else. Whoever you were seeing standing there in his place, it’s someone who had done god knows what to you. Joel has a gut wrenching hunch it had something to do with the marks he’d seen around your wrists back at the cabin. The mere thought of it is enough to send an unpleasant chill up and down the length of his spine. 

Joel speaks again. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He feels the sudden urge to reach out for you, but knowing it would be unwelcome, he resists it. All he can do is try and use his words to bring you back to the present. Back to him. “Breathe. You’re safe. I need you to breathe, can you do that for me? Do you think you can breathe for me, darlin’?”

Somehow, his voice penetrates its way in through the thickness of the white fog that you’d been lost in. You had been stumbling around helplessly in it, desperately searching for a way through. Joel’s heavy, deep Southern drawl permeates the memory, causing the haunting images from that fateful day when your life had taken a sharp turn for the worst to dissolve into nothing. 

“Just breathe. Nice and slow. Inhale through your nose, then out through your mouth. Easy does it.” Joel controls his own breathing, slowing it down to demonstrate. He inhales deeply through his nose and exhales slowly through his mouth. 

You stare at him with wide eyes as you fight to get the rise and fall of your chest to match his. How the hell do you know what to do? 

Joel can practically hear your question ringing in your mind amidst the chaos. “My kid, she gets these awful nightmares sometimes. Wakes up in a panic thinkin’ she’s somewhere else, somewhere she ain’t safe. So my brother’s wife, Maria, well she was kind enough to show me what to do whenever it happens. She taught me a couple different breathin’ techniques that help soothe Ellie and calm her down. Told me it helps if I do them with her,” he explains to you. He can tell that you’re now coming out of the worst of it and that you’re finally starting to get some oxygen back into your lungs. He lowers his hands. Your pistol is still aimed at him, but Joel trusted you enough to know that you wouldn’t pull the trigger and blow his fucking head off. “C’mon, breathe. There we go. That’s it. Easy does it, now. In through your nose and out through your mouth, that’s it. That’s a good girl.” 

It takes you a good minute or two, but your breaths fall into sync with his own and before you know it, the two of you are breathing together in harmony. 

Oh. You’re not in California.

The man standing before you doesn’t have red hair and green eyes. He doesn’t have that twisted smirk on his face. He isn’t putting his hands on you. He’s not hurting you. He’s helping you. 

Swallowing dryly, you lower your weapon. Your gaze meets Joel’s and somehow you find the courage to look him in his eyes for the very first time. Even though you had turned your gun on him, he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it all. He isn’t upset or angry. The look of worry on his face has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you could have easily killed him just now. It’s as if he’d known for certain that you wouldn’t pull the trigger.

“There we go,” Joel says after another minute passes by. “You see? You’re alright. You’re safe.”

There’s comfort in his words, in his deep brown eyes.

Fuck, there’s comfort in him. 

Still. Your mind refuses to allow you to accept it.

At least, not completely. 

Averting your gaze, you shuffle your weight from one foot to the other and then back again. 

Joel clears his throat lightly. “It’s gettin’ real late,” he murmurs. “We should get a move on. We’ve still got a bit of a way to go and we really don’t wanna get ourselves caught out in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere after dark for too long, y’know?”

You give him a small nod and start to gather up your belongings. You pick up your canteen, which is now almost completely empty after you’d shared your water with him during the first leg of the hike, and shove it into one of the side pockets of your back.

“S’kinda cold,” Joel states. “And it’ll only get colder as nightfall approaches. You, uh—you warm enough in that little denim jacket?”

You shrugged a shoulder at him, not thinking anything much of the question. I’m fine. 

However, as if on cue, a chilly breeze blows its way through Wyoming’s plains, causing you to shiver.

Joel quickly shrugs out of his brown jacket. “You mind if I—?”

You toss him a confused glance. 

Do I mind if you what? 

Joel steps towards you and lifts his arms as if he’s going to put them around you. Flinching, every muscle in your entire body goes rigid and he halts. “S’alright. I’m just gonna give you my jacket, that’s all,” he assures you, his arms frozen midair. He patiently waits for a small nod of approval. Once he has it, he drapes his jacket over your shoulders and then takes several steps back, giving you your space. “Should keep you from freezin’ your ass off out here.”

As he turns around and walks over to where he had set his rifle down, you stand there somewhat stupefied over what he’d just done. Something so simple, and yet you can’t seem to wrap your fucking brain around it. 

Willing yourself to move, you carefully slide both of your arms into the sleeves of his jacket, wrapping it around your body. The scent of him, a mixture of earthy sandalwood and whatever soap he uses to wash his clothes, fills your senses and a strange, but pleasant warmth radiates throughout your chest, gradually spreading itself to the rest of your body from head to toe. 

Ignoring the feeling, you pick up your backpack along with your bow and quiver of arrows, slinging everything over your shoulders. 

Joel slings the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and turns back to you. “Ready to get goin’?”

Pistol in hand, you gesture for him to go ahead and walk in front of you, much like he’d done for the first half of the trip.

He lets out a small sigh. “Alright, I get it. Still don’t fully trust me. Well, we’ll keep workin’ on that, then.”

A couple of hours had gone by. The slanting rays of the setting sun give a warm orange tinge to the skies as late evening begins settling itself in. 

“Y’wanna know somethin’?” Joel asks, breaking the silence between you.

You look up at the back of his head, your eyes fixing themselves on his mop of thick, unkempt salt and pepper waves. Occasionally, as you’d been slowly trudging along behind Joel, you stole glimpses of the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck and brushed against the collar of his henley.

Despite the lack of a response, Joel continues to talk. “Earlier at the cabin, just when I was startin’ to come back around, I heard a woman singin’ to me. At least, it sure seemed like she was singin’ to me. It was a real pretty song too.” He glances over his shoulder at you with curiosity. “Was that you?”

You blink at him, keeping a straight face. 

“Hm, no I s’ppose it wasn’t you,” he answers his own question. He turns his attention back to the path ahead of him. “I reckon that it must have just been some sorta dream I had while I was out cold. But it sounded so vivid, y’ know? It sounded so fuckin’ real. And the strangest part of it all is that I don’t know how it’s even possible for me to dream of a voice like that,” he muses aloud. 

Oh? Unable to help yourself, you move yourself from behind Joel and fall into step beside him. Now it’s you that’s riddled with curiosity. What do you mean by that? 

Joel glances down at you. He grips the leather strap of his rifle and shrugs his shoulders. “Well, to be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a voice quite like that in my whole entire life,” he tells you. He shrugs once more, his arm brushing against yours by accident. Joel half expected you to deck him for it, but much to his surprise, it doesn’t seem like his touch had bothered you. “It was too fuckin’ gorgeous. So beautiful that part of me wonders if it was someone or somethin’ out of this world.” He pauses and peered at you, detecting a slight glimmer of light in your eyes. “Felt like I had a real life angel singin’ to me.”

You feel the corners of your lips threatening to turn upwards into a smile. Turning your face away from him, it takes everything you had in you to force them back down. 

“Well look at that. You’re walkin’ right next to me,” Joel observes after a minute, raising an eyebrow. 

Your head whips back around.

“Must mean that I’m doin’ somethin’ right, huh darlin’?”

You snort and roll your eyes.

I think I liked it better when you weren’t talking.

Still, you remain at his side. 

The rest of the trek is silent.

Night had just fallen by the time that you and Joel finally made it to Jackson. The moment that you set your sights on the massive wooden gate out in the distance, your heart begins to pound, slamming against your ribcage.

The closer the both of you draw to the barrier, the easier it is for you to see the men and women who are standing on a platform on top of the gate, heavily armed as they keep watch—their lights illuminate the perimeter of the settlement and light up the velvet purple sky. 

You stop dead in your tracks. Oh fuck that.

Joel shakes his head. “S’alright. Don’t be scared.”

There’s six people standing on top of that gate armed with fucking assault rifles. And you don’t expect me to be scared? Are you for real?

“Look, things might be a little tense at first when the patrolmen see us,” he admits, raking a hand through his hair. “None of them have any idea that I’m still alive, but as soon as they see that it’s me, they’re gonna stand down. All I need is for you to stay calm and follow my lead, alright?” He nods at the pistol in your hand. “M’also gonna need for you to put your gun away and out of sight.”

You glare at him, your eyes flashing angrily in the darkness.

You said I could have my weapons on me. 

Joel holds up his hand. “I promise that I ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you, alright? I swear it on my fuckin’ life,” he vows. “You have my word. No one’s gonna hurt you. I won’t let them. Just stay calm and do as I say. Please,” he adds, a hint of desperation lacing his tone. “Y’think you can do that for me?”

Your mind is screaming, begging you to run and run fast. Instead, you find yourself reluctantly tucking your gun into the waistband of your jeans, concealing it just like Joel had asked you to do. 

“Stay behind me,” he instructs, shoving his own rifle behind him. He begins leading the way towards the gate and beckons for you to follow close. 

The second the two of you step out from the darkness and into the light, the sound of firearms cocking breaks through the silence of the night. 

“Stop right there!” A woman’s voice shouts. “Freeze! Or we’ll fucking shoot!”

“Melissa, it’s me!” Joel calls out, holding up his hands. “It’s Joel!”

“What?”

He huffs and yells again, “It’s Joel!”

“Wait a goddamn minute, everyone fucking stand down!” Melissa loudly barks the order at the five other patrol men and women who are standing on either side of her with their firearms aimed and at the ready. “Joel? Joel Miller, is that really you?” She leans her body forward over the gate and squints at him, letting out an incredulous laugh. “Well butter my fucking ass and call me a goddamn biscuit, the man is fucking alive! Quick, open up the gates! Somebody go and get Tommy! Let’s go, fucking move it people!”

Joel drops his hands, sighing in relief.

You, on the other hand, are scared shitless and wonder if it’s too late to make a run for it. 

“Remember,” he says, looking back at you. “Calm. Okay?”

You force a small, tight nod of your head. 

Okay. 

The gate’s doors pull apart and he leads you up to them and through to the other side where you and Joel are met with a frantic crowd of at least two dozen people—the obnoxious, overlapping chatter coupled with the blatant stares you’re receiving cause an overwhelming feeling of anxiousness to wash over you in a massive wave that, if you allow it, is going to drown you right there on the spot. Refusing to make eye contact with anybody, you fix your gaze on Joel, keeping it focused on the broadness of his back as more and more people circle around the both of you, caging you in with nowhere to run. 

“Joel!” Melissa elbows her way through the large crowd, rushing up to him. She grabs him by the arms, giving him a quick once over. “Holy shit! We thought you were fucking dead! I can’t fucking believe it!”

“Where’s Tommy?” Joel asks her.

“At home with Maria. Lisa went to pull him out of bed—where the hell have you been, Joel? It’s been three fucking days!”

Joel purses his lips together tightly. He can feel you inching yourself forward, trying to stand as close to him as possible as more people join the scene. The toes of your boots touch the heels of his, your chest lightly brushing against his back. While Joel doesn’t blame the people of the town for being curious, he isn’t all too fond of the way they’re staring at you—the gestures and the finger pointing, the mutters and the whispers. He doesn’t have to see you to know it’s making you uncomfortable, and his priority is to get you out of there and somewhere where you would feel safe. “Listen, it’s a real long story that I ain’t got time for right this minute. I need Tommy—”

“Miller!”

A loud, booming voice comes from behind Melissa.

It belongs to a tall, bulky blond haired man—his mere presence is intimidating, proven by how it had taken absolutely nothing for the crowd to part and make room for him to pass through. Smirking, he saunters up to Joel and remarks, “I thought you were a fucking goner.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, but he says nothing. 

The tension between the two men could be sliced with a fucking machete.

His blue eyes flit over Joel’s shoulder to you. “Well, well, well. Who is this sweet little lady?”

You step even closer to Joel, pressing yourself against his backside and taking a fistful of his shirt.

“None of your fuckin’ business, that’s who.”

Keith’s smirk widens. “Actually, as head of safety and security for this community, it fucking is my business,” he reminds him. “She infected?”

Joel raises his eyebrows. “Does she look fuckin’ infected to you?”

“You know the commune’s rules, Miller.” Without tearing his eyes away from you, Keith calls over his shoulder, “Bring out one of the hounds! Now!”

Behind him, Joel hears a small gasp.

Hounds?

Joel whirls around. “Hey, s’alright,” he says quickly before you can start to panic. “We have dogs that have been trained to sniff out the cordyceps infection. S’just gonna smell you, that’s all.”

The crowd backs away as a woman with cropped hair brings out a large black dog on a chain leash attached to a brown leather harness. Once it catches sight of you, the unfamiliar newcomer, the animal begins to bark and growl, thrashing around as it tries to lunge towards you. The dog tugs and pulls at his leash so violently that he nearly knocks his handler over. The woman unclips the leash and sets the dog free—it approaches you, snarling and baring its teeth. 

You start to back away, but Joel stops you.

“Relax,” he mutters to you under his breath. He moves to stand beside you and holds out his hand, offering it in an attempt to comfort you and ease the fear. He hadn’t expected you to accept it, so when you place your hand in his and lace your fingers with his own, he’s taken by complete surprise. 

You squeeze his rough, calloused fingers as the dog comes closer towards you. Nervously, you hold your other hand out to it, prompting it to snap at you, its teeth snapping together. Somehow, you muster enough courage to hold your hand steady and the animal growls, but then gives it a sniff. When it doesn’t detect what it’s searching for, the dog happily wags his tail and gives your hand a friendly lick before running back over to its handler who puts the animal back on the leash. 

You breathe out in relief. 

“There,” Joel snaps at Keith. “You satisfied?”

Keith clicks his tongue. “Almost,” he drawls. He walks over to you, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “What’s your name, dollface?”

Your stomach drops at the nickname. Looking down at the dirt, you don’t reply.

“Aw, she’s shy! Well isn’t that just adorable.” Keith lets out a raspy laugh, causing a couple of the onlookers to laugh along with him. “What’s the matter, sweetie pie? Hm? Cat got your tongue?”

Joel drops your hand, his nostrils flaring. “Back off asshole or else—”

Ignoring him, the blond patrolman eyes the weapon hanging on your shoulder. “That’s a really nice bow you’ve got there,” Keith states, cutting off Joel’s threat. “But we do have rules here. Newcomers have to surrender their weapons so they can be stored away securely. We don’t know you and until we can know for sure you won’t be a threat to the people of this town, you’re going to have to surrender that bow along with all other weapons you’re carrying.” Keith lowers his voice as he adds, “And I would advise you not to try and hide anything because I’m going to be the one to pat you down—and I’ll be thorough. I don’t take all too kindly to liars, so keep that in mind.”

“You just threaten her in front of me?” Trying his hardest not to cause a scene with so many people watching the three of you, Joel keeps his voice low and quiet—but the sharp, dangerous edge to his tone can’t be missed. 

“Of course I didn’t,” Keith responds, innocently. “All I was doing was letting her know how we work around here in Jackson. We’ve been operating the town the same way for years now for a good reason. The rules we set in place apply to any and all newcomers, regardless of who they came here with.” He holds out his hands to you. “Surrender all of your weapons to me. Now.”

Shaking your head, you take a step back. This was not what you’d agreed to. This wasn’t the promise that Joel had made you back at the cabin. 

Joel glares at him. “She ain’t surrenderin’ a goddamn thing—”

It’s too late.

Keith steps towards you and goes for the bow. As his hand shoots out to take it from your shoulder, you quickly turn your body and swiftly dodge it. He feels his face burn with red hot anger as several onlookers gasp at your act of rebelliousness. Furious, Keith reaches for you again and grabs you, taking the upper part of your arm in a harsh grip that makes you squeak out in pain. 

You lift your opposite arm and swing a curled fist up towards his face, but he catches your wrist in his other hand before it can connect with his jawline. 

Joel!

You try to say his name, but you fucking can’t. 

Your mouth opens and nothing comes out. For as hard you push and try to force it, you can’t find your voice. Instead, all that falls from your lips is a pathetic, strangled little cry. You yank and pull, struggling as you try to tear yourself out of Keith’s grasp. 

Livid, Joel nearly goes fucking blind with rage. He snatches Keith by the collar of his leather jacket, ripping him away from you. Though he’s still sore as from the fall off of his horse three days ago, he uses every ounce of strength he has left in him to throw him down into the dirt at the feet of a fellow patrolman named Wyatt. “Don’t. Fuckin’. Touch. Her.” He barely manages to bite out the words through gritted teeth. “Ever.”

Wyatt helps him up to his feet. “You alright, man?”

“Get the fuck off me!” Keith snarls, pushing him away. His chest is heaving and his face turns a deep shade of red. Whether it’s because he’s embarrassed or if it’s because he’s angry, no one can quite tell the difference. One thing is for damn sure, he isn’t used to someone going against his authority and everyone watching holds their breath, waiting to see what he’s going to do next. After all, the man going against him happened to be their leader’s brother in law. “What the fuck is your goddamn problem, Miller? It’s protocol—”

“Not today it ain’t.”

Keith approaches him, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides. He stands so close that the two of them are chest to chest, ready to tear each other to shreds. “Do you think just because your fucking brother is second in command, you can just do as you please? Is that it?” He questions, bitterly. “It doesn’t fucking work like that. We have rules set in place for a reason, Joel. We are going to do this by the fucking book whether your little girlfriend here likes it or not, got it?”

Stepping around him, he starts towards you but Joel is quick to block his path. He stands in front of you and squares his shoulders.

He speaks, his voice dangerously low. “You listen and you listen good. If you even so much as think about layin’ another fuckin’ finger on her, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of tonight pickin’ up your teeth off the ground. You understand me?”

“That a threat?”

“It ain’t a threat. It’s a fuckin’ promise.”

Keith pulls his arm back and he’s about ready to take a swing when he’s stopped by the sound of Tommy Miller’s frantic voice. 

“Joel! Where is he—where the fuck is Joel?”

The much younger, raven haired man approaches the scene, shrugging a blue denim jacket over his cotton white t-shirt. The instant that he spots Joel, he runs up to him and throws his arms around his shoulders. “Fuckin’ Christ, I thought I fuckin’ lost you out there! What the hell happened?”

“Where’s Ellie?” Joel demands. “She okay?”

“She’s fast asleep at my place with Maria and the baby. She’s been with us this entire time.”

Joel’s shoulders sag in relief.

Tommy looks around, frowning. “What’s going on? What’s everyone doin’ out here?” He then sees you and raises his eyebrows at his older brother. “Joel? Who’s that?”

“Look, I’ll explain everything, can we just—can we talk in private?”

Although he’s confused, Tommy nods. 

“Of course. C’mon, let’s go back to my place.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Tommy states as soon as Joel had finished recounting the story—well, what he could remember, anyway. It wasn’t much.

You’re sitting beside Joel across the table from Tommy and Maria in the kitchen of their home. All three of them speak in quiet, hushed voices so as not to wake Ellie and Samuel, Tommy and Maria’s infant son. Maria had offered to go upstairs to pull Ellie out of bed so that she and Joel could reunite, but when Tommy mentioned tonight had been the first night since Joel had gone missing three days ago that she had finally managed to fall asleep, everyone agreed it would be best to wait until the morning. 

“So, she saved your life,” Tommy concludes. His brown eyes, even darker than those of his older brother, flicker over to you once again. You sit there in complete silence, staring at the top of the wooden table, refusing to meet his gaze—or that of his wife. 

Joel nods. “She did, Tommy. I don’t fuckin’ know how, but what I do know is that if it wasn’t for her, then I wouldn’t be sittin’ here at this table right now.”

You shuffle uncomfortably in your chair. Though the couple had been kind to you, it didn’t make it any easier when they stared at you like you had a second head. 

“She saved your life and you don’t even know her name?” Tommy’s in complete disbelief.

“No. She doesn’t talk.”

Maria hums. “I have an idea. Let me find her a notepad or something to write on,” she suggests after a minute. She stands up, wrapping her cotton blue robe around herself, concealing her pajamas as she walks over to the kitchen counter. It takes her a bit of digging around, but in one of her junk drawers, she finds a pen and a small notepad. She makes her way back over to the table and sets the items down in front of you. “Can you write down your name for us?”

You don’t move a single muscle.

“It’s okay, honey. Just write down your name—”

“Best we don’t push her too much,” Joel warns her, holding out his hand to stop her from coming too close into your space.

You glance up at him, your lips parting slightly.

“Don’t worry,” he tells you. “You ain’t gotta tell us anythin’ until you’re good and ready. Alright?”

Tommy clears his throat. “Joel? Can me and you have a quick word in private please?”

Your heart skips an anxious beat.

No, wait! Please don’t leave me.

Less than eight hours ago, you’d been wary of this man, unable to fully trust him. Now, just the mere thought of him leaving your side puts you on edge.

“S’fine, we’re just gonna be out in the hallway,” he assures you. “It’ll only be for a minute or two.”

Realizing you didn’t want to be left alone with her, Maria jabs a thumb over her shoulder towards the gas powered stove. “I’m going to make myself a hot cup of chamomile tea. I can boil water for an extra mug if you’d like some?” she offers, warmly.

You’d turned down food and water already, much too afraid to accept anything from her. However, a warm drink did sound tempting and truth be told, Maria did seem like a nice woman. She’s Joel’s family—maybe it wouldn’t hurt to at the very least try and trust her too. 

Finally, you nod your head.

“Great,” Maria smiles, looking pleased. “I think it’ll do you some good. Chamomile is very soothing. It helps me relax—something that’s hard to do when you have a fussy six month old,” she kids as she whirls around and goes about preparing the tea. 

After making certain that you’ll be fine without him, Joel follows Tommy out into the hallway. 

“Joel, what were you thinkin’ bringing her here?”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Tommy sighs. “We need to be careful about who we bring into Jackson—”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now? You worried about this girl bein’ a threat?” Joel stares at him in complete shock. “You serious, Tommy?”

“For all we know, she could be a threat. She didn’t want to give up her weapons, Joel! She even took a swing at Keith!” He hisses. “And she did it in front of a fuckin’ crowd!”

“He put his fuckin’ hands on her—”

“She didn’t cooperate, Joel. You know damn good and well what happens when someone isn’t willin’ to cooperate with the rules. It leads to nothin’ but trouble and you know it as well as I do,” Tommy says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Her first impression here wasn’t a good one. And to make matters a whole lot worse, we don’t know anythin’ about her. It’s a risk takin’ her into the community.”

Joel can’t even believe what he’s hearing. 

“So you’d rather I just left her out there alone?”

“Look Joel, we don’t know what she’s capable of,” Tommy reminds him, quietly. “If she’s managed to survive out there all on her own for this fuckin’ long, then who the hell knows what she’s done or what kind of blood is on her hands—you might be thinkin’ that she’s some helpless little victim, but maybe she’s not. Hell, we’ll never know because the girl can’t fuckin’ talk. Or maybe she just won’t talk. Either way, we’re runnin’ a huge risk by takin’ her in without knowin’ who the hell she is or where she came from.”

Joel glares at him. “Listen here, whether she can’t talk or just won’t talk, that doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” he says. He pauses briefly, long enough to take a peek back into the kitchen where you’re still sitting at the table. After she’d finished making the tea, Maria took the two steaming mugs and sat down in the chair beside you. She’s now trying almost desperately to get you to write down your name on the notepad. He immediately notices the way that you’d started wringing your hands together anxiously in your lap and he knows you’re debating in your mind whether or not you should reveal your identity to the stranger. He turns back to his brother with a frown. “She ain’t a helpless victim. She’s a survivor. She saved my fuckin’ life out there, Tommy. If it weren’t for her, I would be dead right now.”

“And where is she gonna stay?”

“With me and Ellie, of course.”

Tommy almost laughs. “Wait. You’re gonna be in charge of her? Someone who won’t fuckin’ talk to you? Whose name you don’t even know? Are you serious?”

Joel doesn’t even think twice about it. “Yeah.”

“Look Joel, I know you can be kind of a fuckin’ dumbass, but you can’t possibly be this goddamn dumb, big brother. Think ‘bout it—”

“I already have thought about it. She’s stayin’ with me.” Joel shrugs. “I know it ain’t gonna be easy, but maybe I can get her to trust me enough to talk to me.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow at him. “You really think she can talk and she’s just choosin’ not to?”

“I think she wants to talk, but she can’t. She’s too scared right now. But if I can get her to really trust me—”

“That girl ain’t gonna fuckin’ trust you, Joel.”

“She trusted me enough to come to Jackson,” he says, fiercely. “That has to mean somethin’, I just know it does.”

Tommy exhales a long and heavy sigh. He already knew just how fucking stubborn his brother could be. There’s no changing Joel’s mind once it was made up. 

Maria steps out into the hallway. “No luck,” she tells them, shaking her head lightly. “I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s been through. If she’s too terrified to even give us her name—”

“It must’ve been somethin’ real bad,” Joel finishes for her. He places his hands on his hips. “I think I might have some idea of what happened to her.”

“What do you mean?” she asks. 

Joel lowers his voice as he briefly tells Tommy and Maria about the scars he’d seen around your wrist. “Like she’s been in handcuffs or somethin’,” he murmurs. “Think it could’ve been FEDRA?”

“Possibly.” Maria thinks it over for a moment. “There’s also a good possibility that she’s been a prisoner in a slave camp.”

Slavers.

Joel’s stomach churns at the thought of it. He’d heard about those kinds of groups, about the cruel and inhumane things they did to their prisoners. 

He fucking hoped that wasn’t it. But something in his gut told him not to be so goddamn naive. 

“Listen, we feel for the girl, Joel. We do,” Tommy admits. “And we’re willin’ to give her some time to adjust, same as we did with you and with Ellie—same as we do with all newcomers. But regardless of what she’s been through, she’s still gonna need to pull her weight around here, just like the rest of us. She’s expected to take on work duty just like everybody else. It’ll be hard findin’ the right job for her if she’s not gonna talk to anyone so the sooner you can get her to break her silence, the better it’ll be,” he advises. He points a finger at his brother. “From this point on, she’s your responsibility.”

“I can handle it, Tommy.”

“For your sake, I really hope you can.”

“Good to know you’ve got faith in me,” Joel makes the sarcastic comment under his breath, but he’s certain Tommy had heard it. “It’s gettin’ pretty late now. She’s exhausted and so am I. M’gonna take her back to my place and get her settled in for the night.”

“What ‘bout Ellie?”

“Best she just stays here with you two tonight. As soon as she’s up in the mornin’, you can bring her on over to mine if that’s alright with you and Maria?”

Tommy nods. “You got it, brother.”

“Besides, I figure it’ll give me a bit of extra time to think of how I’m gonna explain everythin’ to her.” Joel suddenly realizes that he hadn’t given much thought about how he was going to tell Ellie about you—how he was going to explain your condition to her and how you’d be sharing a roof with them from this point on. 

Tommy chuckles. “Yeah, good luck with that one.”

Rolling his eyes, Joel roughly shoves past him and back into the kitchen. 

You hadn’t drank the tea Maria had made you, but you’d wrapped your hands around the ceramic red mug to warm them up. 

“C’mon,” he beckons to you with his hand. “Let’s go. M’gonna take you home now.”

Home. 

The word rinds oddly in your ears.

You stand up from the table.

“Wait.” Maria picks up the notepad and pen, handing them over to you. “Here. Take these with you. Just in case you decide you want to use them.”

Joel pushes through the front door, switching on the lights in the foyer of his home before stepping aside to let you in. He watches as you stand there at the door looking rather apprehensive. “It’s okay, darlin’. S’just me and you here tonight.”

Carefully, you step over the threshold. When was the last time you’d even set foot in an actual house? One with running water and electricity?

You couldn’t remember.

Joel shuts the front door behind you and locks it. “Let’s go upstairs.” He gestures for you to follow him up the cherrywood staircase. “It’s pretty late, so I’ll show you the rest of the house tomorrow in the mornin’,” he promises you over his shoulder. At the top of the staircase, Joel switches on more lights that illuminate a short hallway. He points to a door at the end of it, stating, “That one there at the end, that’s mine. This one here is Ellie’s. We also have a third spare, it’s right across from her.” He nods with his head towards the door of the bedroom he’d been referring to. “Go on. Open it up and check it out for yourself.”

You want me to open the door?

Seeing your expression, Joel chuckles. “Go on. It’s alright. There’s nothin’ bad in there. I promise.”

You momentarily hesitate. Fingers trembling, you reach out and grasp the brass door knob, slowly turning it and pushing the door open. You peek inside and flip the light switch next to the door frame.

You gasp. Holy shit, is this fucking real?

The spare bedroom is fully furnished with light oakwood furniture—a dresser up against one wall, a desk nestled in the corner, and two nightstands on either side of the most comfortable, full sized bed that you’d ever seen. The décor is minimal, but whoever had occupied the space before had a clear adoration for simple, warm, earthy tones. You nearly smile at the shades of mud brown, forest green, and autumn orange. Setting your things down on the hardwood floor, you make your way over to the bed and sit down, planting your hands firmly on either side of you. You relish in the softness of the cream colored duvet comforter. 

“I’m guessin’ you like it.” Joel can’t help but grin a little. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go see if I can get you one of my shirts or somethin’ that you can sleep in. Make yourself comfortable.” He spins around on the heel of his boot, disappearing into the hallway. 

Unable to resist, you lay back onto the bed. Your body sinks into it, melting right into the mattress. It feels like a fucking cloud. 

Joel reappears in the room just seconds later. “I can see you took what I said about makin’ yourself comfortable quite literally.” His voice causes you to shoot back up into a sitting position. Joel stands there at the door holding a long sleeved, navy and white flannel shirt in one hand—in the other, he’d been holding a gray hooded sweatshirt and from his arm swings a brown canvas tote bag. “Not too sure what you would prefer to sleep in. I figured you might want somethin’ on the warmer side. Here’s a couple options to choose from. I’ve also got t-shirts if you’d rather sleep in one of those.”

Standing up from the bed, you walk over to him and he holds out the articles of clothing for you to see better. It’s his flannel you gravitate to the most. Taking it from him, you run your fingers over the fabric.

“I can throw your clothes in the washing machine for you first thing tomorrow so they’ll be clean by the time you wake up,” he adds.

You breath out shakily.

A fucking washing machine.

“Overwhelming, ain’t it?”Joel drapes the hooded sweatshirt over a nearby chair, deciding to leave it for you as well. “Trust me, I get it. I felt the same when I first got here with Ellie. It took a lot of time for the both of us to adjust to this new way of life after being out there for so long,” he confesses to you. “The important thing is to take it one step at a time, darlin’. And somethin’ is tellin’ me the next step for you is probably takin’ a nice hot shower?”

Your mouth falls open. A hot shower? Hot?

“You’ll have to share a bathroom with Ellie.” Joel leads you out of the bedroom and to another door adjacent to yours. He shows you the bathroom, telling you which knob in the shower was for hot water and which one was for cold water. “You can use Ellie’s shampoo, m’sure she won’t mind. I’d offer you some of my own, but I don’t think you’ll wanna walk around smellin’ like sandalwood and spice.” Joel hands you the canvas bag he’d had draped over his arm. “Here. Should be pretty much everythin’ you’re gonna need. There’s a bar of soap, a couple clean washcloths, a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste. There’s also a razor.” He pauses. “It’s a men’s razor, one of mine I’ve never used, but I reckon it does the job just the same as a woman’s razor.”

Amused, you quirk an eyebrow at him. What the hell are you trying to say? That I need to shave?

“Not that you have to use it,” he adds quickly, his cheeks burning bright red at what you thought he had been insinuating. He shifts awkwardly from boot to boot. “I tossed it in there just in case you’d want to, but you ain’t gotta use it, that’s not what I meant at all—”

Deciding you don’t want to see him squirm, you lift a hand up to stop him and shake your head.

Truth be told, you actually couldn’t fucking wait to shave your legs.

Calm down, cowboy. It’s all good.

Realizing he hadn’t offended you, Joel relaxes. “I’ll let you get to your shower. You take as long as you want, but just try and leave some hot water for me since I’m next,” he chuckles. “As soon as we both get all cleaned up, we can meet downstairs in the kitchen for a quick bite to eat before bed. Deal?”

Deal.

He’s about to leave you to it when you stop him, grabbing his arm. Wait a second, Joel.

Joel’s eyes meet yours. “Yeah?”

Thank you.

Your gratitude might have been silent, but it was there and he knew it. 

Feeling brave, Joel reaches up and places his hand over yours for a moment, his thumb brushing against the softness of your skin. “No need to thank me, sweetheart.” 

Letting his hand drop away from yours, Joel then turns and leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him to give you your privacy. 

Once you have the hot water running, you kick off your boots and start to peel off your clothes, tossing them into a pile on the floor near the door. Completely naked, you turn your back towards the oval shaped mirror hanging over the bathroom sink, unwilling to take a look at the scars on your body—painful reminders of the cruel punishments you’d endured during your time in captivity. 

You grab the toiletries from the tote bag Joel had given you and set them on the side of the tub. Pulling the yellow floral curtain aside, you step into the shower and position yourself directly underneath the scalding hot water, letting it burn your skin to give you an entirely different kind of pain to think about, even if it was just for a minute until your body adjusted to the temperature of the water and it no longer hurt. 

You begin washing yourself, trying your hardest to keep from crumbling. But you couldn’t. Lump in your throat and a tightness in your chest, tears brim your eyes, ready to fall. 

You’re willing to let them. 

Two years. For almost two fucking years, you had been suppressing your emotions. You’d been in a constant survival mode, there had been no time to feel anything. And now here you were, standing in a fucking shower with all the freedom in the world to just let it all out. 

Silent sobs wrack your body, bringing you down onto your knees. 

Joel’s shower had been a quick one.

You hadn’t left him very much hot water—but he couldn’t even be mad about it.

He pulls on a pair of light gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. He haphazardly dries off his hair and makes his way downstairs, knowing you would be heading down there any minute now to meet him like you’d agreed. Without much time to make a proper meal for you to eat, Joel goes about the dimly lit kitchen and prepares a couple of cold turkey sandwiches. He’d just plated them and set them on the table when the soft padding of bare feet on the hardwood floor prompts him to look up. 

His breath catches in his throat. You stand there in the doorway wearing nothing but his flannel shirt. The hem of it falls to the middle of your thighs, and it takes everything in him not to think about the fact that you weren’t wearing anything under his shirt. His fucking shirt.

Clearing his throat lightly, he makes sure not to let his gaze wander where it’s not supposed to. “I bet you feel a lot better, don’t you?”

You sigh softly. Oh, you have no fucking idea.

Noticing you’re holding your hands behind your back, Joel shoots you a puzzled look. “What’cha got there?”

You bring your arms forward. Clutched in your hands is the notepad and pen that Maria had given you.

Although he takes it as a sign that you are willing to communicate with him, Joel knows better than to get too far ahead of himself. He’d wait until you were ready to make the first move and he’d follow your lead. “I made you a sandwich to eat,” he tells you, pulling out a chair at the table. “C’mon, come have a seat.”

After you sit down, Joel goes over to the sink and fills two glasses of water, one for you and one for himself. Setting them down on the table, he finally takes a seat across from you—that’s when he notices the redness in your eyes. You’d been crying. Even though he wants to ask you if you’re alright, Joel decides against it for the time being and the two of you eat in comfortable, tranquil silence.

“I can make you another one if you’re still hungry,” Joel offers when you polish off the last couple bites of your sandwich. 

Shaking your head, you place your hands on your belly signaling that you’re full. You’re not, though. You’d eagerly scarf another three of them down if you could, but you were a lot more exhausted than you were hungry and you couldn’t wait to crawl into that bed upstairs and get some sleep.. 

Joel studies you. “You okay, darlin’?”

You shrug. This has just been a lot to process.

“I know it’s gonna be tough for you. It’s like I told you earlier, it’s gonna take some time to adjust to your new life here in Jackson. But I need you to know you ain’t alone anymore. I’m gonna be here to look out for you. And trust me, I know you don’t really need me to.” Joel pauses and shoots you a crooked little grin. “Hell, you took a swing at Keith. You’ve got bigger fuckin’ balls than half of the men in this town. Includin’ myself.”

You let out a huff of amusement from your nose and the corners of your mouth tug into a small smile—you don’t try to force it down. 

Joel blurts the words before he can even think to stop himself. “You’ve got a real nice smile, y’know.”

Biting down on your bottom lip, you move your empty plate off to the side and grab your pen and notepad. You swiftly scribble something onto the blank page, then slide it across the table to Joel. 

He picks it up, an odd sensation fluttering inside his chest when he realizes what you had done.

You’d written down your name for him.

He says it out loud, and then looks up at you.

“That’s a real beautiful name.” Sincerity drips from his tone, going hand in hand with his compliment.

Cheeks burning, you glance down at your hands, which you’d begun wringing together on top of the table. It was out of nervousness, but this kind was different. You couldn’t quite explain it. 

“I know it’s gonna take a whole lot more than a hot shower and a sandwich to get you to trust me. But I swear that I’m gonna do whatever I can to show you that you ain’t got anythin’ to be afraid of. Not with me around. Okay?”

Okay. 

You open your mouth, trying to repeat the word back to him. 

Joel’s eyes widen slightly. You wanted to talk to him—you were actually trying to talk to him. But it was a clear struggle. Something wasn’t letting you find your voice. 

Clamping your mouth shut, you sigh and sink back into your chair. I’m sorry. I can’t.

“It’s okay,” he says, softly. “We’re gonna take this one step at a time. Together.”

#to hell and back fic #to hell and back #joel miller series #joel miller story #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller hbo #joel miller comfort #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction

[formula1bby]

Dating Charles Leclerc Headcanons

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Just some soft bf!Charles headcanons

charles leclerc x gn!reader

Warnings: none that come to mind, just fluff

req?: yes/no

A/N: Hallo, it’s been a minute! I’m working on two fics rn (one Danny Ric x femaleequestrian!oc and one Carlos Sainz Jr. x femaledriver!oc) and I’m not sure when they’ll be out/start to be posted since I am v busy right now. I will post a teaser for the Danny Ric one later this week so keep an eye out for that ;) and I’ll post a teaser for the Carlos one sometime after that. In the meantime, I’ll try to post some hcs and smaller fics while waiting for those so if you have any requests, hop into my asks and let me know! Enjoy the hcs!

Everything about this man screams childhood friends to lovers to me!!! Like, you’re next door neighbors or desk neighbors in school or something and you just click instantly as kids

It was never a question of if, but when you and Charles got together and your families all had a running bet of when you two would stop being so blind to each other’s feelings (Lorenzo ends up winning the bet)

I feel like Charles would eventually accidentally let it slip how he feels for you while you guys are on a drive together with no destination in mind

Like, he would just look over at you without you noticing and just say under his breath “god, I’m so in love with you” without even realizing that he’s said it or that you heard him

But you heard him alright. You immediately look over at him and are like “what did you just say?????” Like, hello?? That’s your best friend and he just confessed his love for you?????????????

Charles is like a deer in headlights and is like “oh fuck I said that out loud” and spirals thinking that he’s just ruined your friendship

You just laugh and tell him “don’t worry, I’m so in love with you too” and he just lets out a sigh of relief

As soon as you tell him you feel the same about him, he grabs your hand with his free one and holds it for the rest of the drive (his palms are so sweaty but please don’t mention it, he’s nervous :( )

Once you two are dating, you decide to keep it private from the F1 community for the first few months

It was hard for fans to tell that you two were dating, although there was definitely lots of speculation, because you had always gone to every race weekend possible and given him a lil kiss on his cheek for good luck. Charles refused to race if you were there and didn’t give him his good luck kiss

You wanted to soft launch your relationship to the public (the team, your friends/family, and all of the drivers already knew about the relationship) and spent a long time explaining to Charles what soft launching was and how to do it

It was in one ear and out the other with him

He tried (not really) to soft launch but he just posted one of his favorite pictures of you and him and tagged you in the post

You definitely chew him out in the comments like “so much for soft launching this”

Fans love you though, they always had

You, like before, are always there for Charles whether he has a good race or a bad race

When he has a good race and/or wins, you are right there in the crowd, cheering as loud as you possibly can. To celebrate, the two of you go out and have a blast with your friends and order way too much food when you get back to the hotel

When he has a bad race, you’re there to console him immediately, reassuring him that he is every bit deserving of his place in the sport. You make sure you tell him when something isn’t his fault, but you never lie to him about how he drove. You’re brutally honest with him but still encouraging and always make sure he knows you will always be his biggest supporter, no matter what. The two of you order comfort foods and just sit and quietly eat and chat after bad races so that he can cool down. He will always talk to you about what he’s going through after he’s cooled off though, knowing that you just want to help

I’m realizing now that I haven’t talked about PDA with Charles, but I feel like he would keep most affections private, only kissing you after races and holding your hand when walking next to each other, but mostly it’s soft touches and words when you’re in smaller groups of friends and family

Overall, Charles is your best friend before and after dating and he is so willing to be emotionally vulnerable with you because of it

10/10 would recommend dating Charles Leclerc

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There it is! hope you all enjoyed! Pls reblog and comment <3 See you all later!

Cazza out (^▽^)

#f1 #f1 headcanon #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #cl16 x reader #cl16 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #cazza writes #charles leclerc imagine #formula1bby

[killerpancakeburger]

Peace of mind // Miguel O'Hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x female reader

Summary: After a long day of tending to the multiverse, Miguel goes to you for some comfort.

Warnings: swearing.

Tags : fluff. That's it.

Words: 733.

A/N: Inspired by @/the-cat-and-the-birdie's post about Miguel's cooking.

You blindly reach inside the bag of chips on your desk without taking your eyes off your computer screen, grab one and eat it. Tonight’s your weekly online meeting with your friends on your favourite online game. You can’t afford to miss a single kill. You have your noise cancelling headphones on and are completely occupied by the things your companions are yelling are at each other and where your aim is.

It’s probably why, despite your usually sharp instincts, you don’t hear the interdimensional portal who opens in your living room. You don’t notice the imposing – yet looking like he’s buckling under an invisible weight – man in a faintly glowing suit who crosses it. You don’t spot him either when he gets behind you.

However you certainly can’t ignore his presence when he bends over your chair, closes his arms around you and lets his forehead fall on your shoulder.

“FUCK! Miguel! Are you trying to give me a heart attack!” you shout in shock.

He mumbles something unintelligible, his mouth pressed to your back. Your surprise has been clearly noticed by your friends as they don’t miss the opportunity to tease you for it. You grumble and mute your microphone.

You ruffle Miguel’s hair, taking the opportunity to mess it up a bit.

“So? Did something happen?”

He sighs and his warm breath tickles your skin.

“Can you please…?” He starts, but never finishes.

“Uh-Uh?”

You’re still playing your game, but way more casually, and even though you’re pretending to still be busy, you’re actually taking in Miguel’s every word.

“You know…”

“No, I don’t. Still can’t read your thoughts.”

“Urgh.”

There’s a part of you that finds this way of speech endearing but there’s an even bigger part of you that enjoys making Miguel works for it.

“…lay down with me for a bit?”

You pat his head in congratulations.

“There we go! Knew you could do it!”

“Stop it.”

He grunts. You turn your mic back on.

“Alright, game’s over for today. See you later”, you announce before logging off and taking off your headphone.

“Can you have a look at the code I wrote for Gizmo n° 564 before we do that?” you ask.

You pull up said code on your screen. Miguel doesn’t raise his head.

“It’s great”, he says.

“You didn’t even look at it”, you retort, slightly annoyed.

“I don’t need to.” He replies with that unsufferable indubitable arrogance of his.

“Oh really now?”

Your voice is dripping with sarcasm.

“You made it so it’s good.”

You roll your eyes but you can’t help being moved.

“I think I prefer when you’re brutally honest.” You mumble to yourself. “Did you eat today?”

His stomach grumbles loud enough for both of you to hear, effectively stopping him from bullshitting you. You chuckle.

“Should I order food?”

He grunts something that you know means no.

“Oh so you want my cooking? I’m so flattered”, you laugh, the both of you pertinently knowing that while he’s great at cooking, you… are not.

He finally gets up.

“Just do as I say.”

You get up, give him the chips from your desk, and head to the kitchen. Since your relationship with Miguel got more serious, aka him crashing at your place whenever he felt like it, there is always tortillas, sour cream and salsa verde in your fridge. You stop halfway realizing Miguel isn’t following and remember he moves like a zombie in this kind of situation, the situation being “I just spent 24 hours non-stop monitoring the multiverse without eating nor sleeping so now I am on the cusp of a breakdown”.  You turn back to grab his hand and bring him with you.

He leans against the counter as you take out of the fridge and cupboards what you need. You put on some music and make conversation as you tackle your tasks. Once you’re both fed, you go lay down with him on your bed. You hug him against your chest, delicately stroking his hair. He closes his eyes and looks relaxed for the first time since he arrived. You feel his chest raising and decreasing and listen to his steady breathing while contemplating your ceiling. When you know for certain that he’s deeply asleep, you get up as discreetly as you can, leave a kiss on his forehead and go back to your nightly occupations.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fic #miguel ohara fanfiction #atsv fanfiction #atsv fic #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara fluff #mild miguel #aka not a sex beast nor a latino lover #mine

[marksbear]

Imagines pt2

(warning parts contain Nsfw, Cussing, fighting ,slight yandere behavior , Random characters, s/o=significant others) 

Imagine dating daredevil and waiting for him to come home, and when he finally arrives you see him all bruised up, and you treat his wounds and ask him if he is okay and kiss him softly on his neck. (marvel)

Imagine beating Rock Lee ass during training and ever since he's been hating you, becoming his rival even though you never saw him as a rival. One day he came back for a rematch and he's just rambling about how he became stronger and faster. And you just walk away, so he runs up to you and grabs your hand and says "m/n kun wait!" you only side eye him and say in a low tone " let go". Lee blushes at the sound of your voice since you never spoke often only really when you have to. Lee lets go of you and you just walk off, with Lee still staring at you until he can't see you. He blushes and looks at his hand with a paper and says "meet me here at 11:00" he couldn't help but smile at the thought of meeting you here. So he walks off with the thought of you lingering in his mind.(Naruto)

Imagine being best friends with Hanzo Shimada and he's obsessed with you. Ever since you were little you always hung out with him and his brother. Hanzo had peeked a little interest in you. He loved that you were always brutally honest and never gave two shits whatsoever. Not even when he was little he was in love with you the way you look, acted, everything you did or said. He was there for it. Later on into Overwatch with Hanzo would act cold in front of others but as soon as you come into the room his mood changes and all of his attention goes to you. He likes to tell others that you're his husband even though y'all are not together. Of course you find out on his obsessed behavior and you called him out on it , he plays dumb saying that "your crazy" and "I don't know what your talking about." So you walked off confused and puzzled (Overwatch)

Imagine making out with me ;)

Imagine Hannibal being a power bottom, and him riding you telling how good of a pet you are for him while you're just tied up with a blind fold on with a cock ring on you. And he's just teasing you, not letting you cum or even touch him. (NBC Hannibal)

Imagine being Gaston left hand man, and being fuck buddies and every time he will go to you to get fucked is because he had a rough day with Belle rejecting him and to blow off some steam.(Beauty and the beast)

Imagine being Karl Heisenberg's first human lover, and he just treats you with the most kindness and care for you.(RDE)

Imagine being jealous and dating Kevin love. You were jealous of the fans always simping for him so during one of the plays you run up to him and just kiss him. moments later the world is going crazy about the two star basketball players kissing. After the game y'all both get asked about it and you just say that "i'm showing the world what's mine" the media goes crazy, the two stars phones buzzing from the amount of tags they got from people that tag them in post. You and Kevin just laugh about it not having a care in the world.(NBA)

Imagine being a ally to Johnny Depp when he was going against Amber Heard fuck her bitch ass that on period.

Imagine being a grown man, but your mom buys you Chucky the doll for a gift. You were freaked out about the tiny doll but you were thankful for the gift regardless. Next day you open the box just to look at more. You thought the doll was kinda ugly so you put it back in the box and hid it in a closet. Hours later you hear a slam of a door opening. You turned around just for a moment, you froze, once you came back to your senses you went to your room and pulled a gun out from one of your dressers. After that you went to investigate the noise in the corner of your eye and you see something small run past you. As fast as lighting you shoot at it . Moments later you hear "Watch it!" you were confused and said "who are you!?". You see the same little doll he waved at you the ginger head boy said "The name Chucky" you only responded with "No duh, I saw it on the box". Chucky walks up to you and says "What's your name kid?" you respond with "i'm m/n." Ever since that day y'all became close friends.(chucky)

Imagine dating Jeffery Dean Morgan. And him wanting to publicly announce your relationship, of course you agreed y'all had been dating for two years though it was time for the world to know. So in an interview the interviewer asks Jeffrey if he is in a relationship and Jeffrey responds saying "Actually I am with a beautiful s/o ." The interviewer is a bit shocked at the response and says "So when do we get to meet them" Jeffrey just simply says "maybe i'll post a picture of them when i get the chance." The interviewer says great! and continue with the interview.

Imagine Will graham fucking messily you while on his desk. And you're just a moaning mess and not noticing will giving you hickeys but biting a bit too hard and drawing blood. Once y'all both cum Will just keep going and fucks you even harder than before bruising your hole a little and just him overusing you. Trying to make you reach your limit seeing however long it takes for you can break.(NBC HANNIBAL)

Imagine being with Jon Bernthal in a secret relationship and fans think your best friends. During an interview you two couldn't  keep your eyes off each other also whispering time to time sweet nothings into each other ears. Becoming flustered at each others words. After the interview you checked social media and see you and Jon trending and see edits of the two of you.

Imagine being the strongest hero in the MCU and taking down everyone that comes your way. And also looks scary to most people with scars on your body and a resting bitch face. The heroes and villains were shocked to know that your dating Dr Octavius always helping him escape from the heroes and hell helping him fight them as well.  

Imagine being married to Shawn Mendes and him making songs about you.

Imagine having to keep your relationship a secret with Arthur Shelby since same sex marriage wasn't allowed.

Imagine having Tommy on his knees sucking your cock dry also having John and Arthur fucking you as hard as human possible taking turns having they're way with you.(Peaky Blinders)

Imagine revealing to the world that you're dating Brad Pitt.

Imagine being a WWE super star and dating Drew Mcintyre and him kissing you in the middle of the ring while you two are supposed to be enemies.

Well that is all for right now hope y'all have a blessed day drink enough and eat have a good one Bears

#marvel x male reader #peaky blinders x male reader #johnny depp #jeffery dean morgan #will graham #slashers x male reader #shawn mendes #overwatch x male reader #wwe x male reader #jon bernthal #The bear club

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #8: under his loving gaze: Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes

In which Steve discovers it’s possible to love two people to the bone and still be crushed by loneliness. 

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers (sort of) x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) VOYEURISM of the truest, you-don’t-know-you’re-being-watched kind. Vaginal sex. Male masturbation. Lots and lots of pining for not so many words. 

Notes: Another one for my Marvel friends today :) The prompt for day eight is ‘Voyeurism,’ and does he ever watch. Somehow this one turned angsty. I... don’t think I’m sorry, though. 

Kinktober Masterlist

Friday nights never used to be this pathetic.

Steve’s not completely sure when he got so boring. Even when he was a kid, Bucky always had one place or the other to drag him on the weekends. He’d stumble in from a backbreaking shift at the docks, c’mon Stevie, the city awaits, and Steve never really wanted to go, but it was Bucky’s sweat that paid for the roof over their heads, so he never felt good about saying no.

These days, though, his idea of fun is an evening pouring over his briefings. Letting the security footage from the compound flick idly across the monitor. He doesn’t need to watch it. Not when there’s an AI system more sophisticated than any on the planet monitoring their premises.

But Steve’s always been a little old-fashioned.

Tonight, there’s something else on his mind. It’s not something that should be plaguing his thoughts, but his brain doesn’t often listen when he decides he doesn’t want to think about something.

“Gonna be taking your post again tonight, Captain?” Tony’s voice, no matter how genuine, always felt edged with an air of mockery. Tonight’s dinner had been no different. Above the idle chatter surrounding plans for the weekend, he’d decided to speak up.

“Whaddaya mean?” Sam had asked, quirking an eyebrow in Steve’s direction with a bite of chicken-something (prepared by Vision) halfway to his mouth.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Steve remembers low dread curling in his gut at the snappy response from Tony, knowing he was setting up for a lethal blow. “Steve’s been watching all of you do the nasty.”

After his cheeks had gone an appropriate shade of maroon, Steve sputtered through the rest of dinner, insisting that there weren’t any security cameras installed in private areas of the compound.

Then again, based on the way that Tony’s eyes had sparkled once he let the subject drop, Steve isn’t so sure anymore.

The mystery of whether seems hell-bent on keeping Steve from getting any work done tonight. Any time he so much as lowers his eyes to the page, the question plagues intently at the corners of his thoughts, forcing him to re-read the same briefing line at least a dozen times before he gives up and pushes the papers aside.

He’s just going to have to figure it out. Once and for all. He slumps over the edge of the desk, taking the mouse in one oversized hand and navigating to the edge of the window that he’s got open- flicking through the normal course of security footage. Front door, hallways, kitchen, gym, garden, repeat.

Steve is not blessed with extensive computer knowledge. But he knows that the black bar at the top of the screen, scrawled with words like file, edit, preferences, refers to a list of possible commands. So he keeps clicking through them, scrolling through each option until he finds something that points him in the right direction.

Under the view tab there’s another series of options. After mousing over one called ‘cycle settings,’ he realizes that the current feeds cycling through the monitor are only one option of many.

His eyes find ‘quarters’ far more quickly than he would care to admit. For an honest moment he sits there, cursor highlighting the option. He chews hard at his lower lip.

It wouldn’t be right. It would be a violation of privacy. But it’s Friday night. Steve’s willing to bet that hardly anyone is even home at the moment. What’s the worst thing that could possibly happen?

Oops, he thinks to himself as he clicks, curiosity getting the best of him. My hand slipped.

The feed that pops up before him is, as he expected, mostly empty. Some of the bedrooms are unused, showing bare rooms with bare mattresses and naked walls.  Even the ones that are designated to his teammates are mostly unoccupied right now, some beds neatly made, some haphazardly rumpled.

There’s a flicker of motion out the corner of his eye that draws Steve’s attention. His heart clenches. Hard.

It’s your room. And you’re there, but you’re not alone.

The relationship that you have with Bucky is no secret. You connected with one another right away, finding peace in one another and happiness. You’ve turned Bucky into a shred of the man he used to be- smiling, grabbing for you in the kitchen, holding you close when you gather in the common room to watch movies or binge Seinfeld.

Steve’s supposed to be happy for you. Both of you. The two most important people in the world to him have found happiness with one another.

But he can’t help the rush of greed that consumes him every time you’re in front of him. Every time you put that love so proudly on display.

He wants you both for himself.

He clicks on the feed and it quickly expands to fill the entire monitor. This way, it’s easier for him to see the way Bucky looks, laid out on top of your stretched body. His knees are between your thighs, and though his hair hides your faces in a sweep of chestnut, his body doesn’t hide the way his hands are currently working themselves under the edge of your tank top, crawling up your ribcage as he kisses you like a man starved.

Based on the angle of the feed, Steve can surmise that the camera is probably situated in the control panel by your door. He should have guessed. Tony’s a sneaky bastard at the best of times. And the concept of boundaries has always been a foreign one to anybody named ‘Stark.’

Bucky rucks your shirt up over your bare chest. Steve swallows hard. He glances over his shoulder to make sure the door to his study is closed, then turns his attention back to the screen. Bucky’s palming one of your breasts, but he’s already kissed his way down to your chest and sucks attentively at the other one.

He’s worshipping your body. God, he’s so in love with you. Steve’s not sure which one of you he wishes he could be. Both. Neither. He wants to be in the middle.

His cock is already beginning to twitch to life inside his stiff chinos, and he shifts a little to palm the growing swell of it down one thigh. His mind is working a mile a minute- wrestling between how badly he knows he shouldn’t be doing this and how badly he wants to anyway.

Bucky tugs your sweatpants down over your hips in one swift motion and Steve reaches for his fly. He can’t fucking take this anymore.

It’s not like you’re going to look over and see him there, peering at you from the other side of the camera.

He’s just thankful that there’s no sound, or he would have definitely lost it by now. He can see the way your lips are moving, though, and imagines what you might be saying to each other. Are you tender? Dirty? He wants to know it all.

Bucky’s got your pants off now, and he’s shimmying out of his shirt, too. Steve tries hard not to admire the graceful dip and swell of his best friend’s muscles. He’s loved Bucky since he was a chubby-cheeked kid, and he wished that neither of them had ever been touched by any of this. But Bucky’s beautiful now, gorgeous in a way that Steve will never be. He handles his new mass with elegance.

The dull silver glint of a dog tag dangles from Bucky’s throat as he crawls up your body again, shucking down his pants. Steve’s already digging through the fabric in his lap, pushing the folds of his pants aside and pulling out his cock. He can’t stop. It’s like his limbs are moving all their own.

You’re both naked now. To Steve, it’s like a trip to the Louvre. Priceless artwork laid out for him alone. Both your bodies are so perfect. He never knew that he could want two things, two people so badly, but to choose between you would be to choose between breath and heartbeat.

He grips the base of his cock and groans as he watches Bucky line up. He’s so careful with you, worshipping your body at every turn. He slips his metal hand beneath your thigh, intertwining his flesh fingers with yours. He leans down to kiss you, so slow and soft it makes Steve’s chest ache to watch.

He’s seen the two of you kiss before. But this is an intimate moment, meant to be shared by just the two of you. For an instant it hits Steve how intrusive this is, to be looking in on a ritual as tender and sacred as this one.

Bucky’s hips ease forward, clean lines of muscle sinking into the sides of his thighs. Steve’s hand gives an involuntary jerk. He needs this- no- deserves this- and what you never find out won’t hurt you.

For all the softness that Bucky’s shown you in the lead-up he settles into a brutal rhythm, pounding rhythmically into your body as your legs twine around his hips to pull him in. It’s even more beautiful to watch from afar, and Steve quickly matches the rhythm of your lovemaking with his fist, pumping his hips into a closed hand and slicking the fluid that leaks from his tip up and down the length of his shaft.

“Fuck,” he gasps, despite himself. “fuuuck.”

Bucky lasts longer than he does.

Steve can’t help himself. Bound by nothing but his own pleasure, he cums fast. His thighs hit the underside of his desk as he swears and jerks and tugs on his cock, bucking his hips into nothing and spurting quick bursts over his fingers and palm. The pleasure that rushes his system is little compared to what he’d feel if he were with you, but… it’s all he can bear to take for himself.

He stays to watch the two of you finish, transfixed by the way Bucky’s hand slips between your legs and your mouth pops open in a silent cry. Even without hearing you he can tell when you’ve hit your peak- your whole body shivers and he fucks you through it, calm and steady as the tide.

He doesn’t last much longer after that, though, and Steve watches in awe. Bucky draws up so tight before he cums it looks like he’s going to snap, all the tendons and muscles in his body stretched to the breaking point. And when it hits him, he collapses forward, thrusting madly into you before his knees go shaky and he just buries himself to the hilt and stops. He trembles against you. Trails kisses down your whole body. And when he pulls out, his softening cock is followed by a handful of fluid- so much- and Steve comes back to himself so quickly he closes the entire security program and unplugs the desktop.

The weight of what he’s just done settles over his shoulders. But, fuck, he loved it. The image of you and Bucky and your bodies moving as one is printed permanently into his mind.

As he cleans himself up and gets dressed again, he wishes there was a way for him to make you both see. If he could just show you how much he adores you, both of you, maybe you’d let him in. If you knew that he didn’t want to come between you, maybe things would be different.

For tonight, though, all he’ll have is stolen memories. And for now, it has to be enough.

#stucky x reader #stucky x you #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #MCU #captain america x reader #kinktober #jbbkinktober2020 #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america #bucky

[kindahoping4forever]

Yes, Sir // Ashton Irwin

This is definitely the fastest turnaround I’ve ever had for a piece of writing 🤡. Yesterday @spicycal​ sent me a TikTok of Ashton reacting to being called “sir” and as you can imagine, the inspo machine started turning for a lot of us. Pretty quickly, I jokingly pitched a premise to @pxrxmoore @cashtonasfuck and @feliznavidaddycal that served as a sequel to the fic I had just posted, You Were Digging Plants, I Dug You. The more I thought about it though, the more I liked the idea so I ran with it and here we are. Thank you to @cal-puddies for as always, reassuring me I was on the right track and to the anons who excitedly messaged me in anticipation for it. (And to @rebelwith0utacause for implying my writing was worth losing sleep over.)

Warnings: Boyfriend!Ash, Gardening!Ash, Home Repair!Ash, Dom!Ash (we love a multi-faceted man), references to bondage and cumplay, brief degrading language, sex in a public place, unprotected sex in an established relationship

Word Count: 3750

Masterlist // Taglist // Ko-Fi

Let  me  know  what  you  think!

————-

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were proud of what you’ve done,” Ashton accuses you with a smirk.

You drop your jaw in mock offense. “What I’ve done?! Ohhhhh, that’s right, that was my other boyfriend’s dick I was bouncing on that day. I’m sorry, baby, you’re correct. This was entirely my fault,” you offer with pouted lips, opening your arms for a cuddle.

“You were a woman possessed and your frenzied demon sex destroyed my relaxation zone,” he teases, pulling you in to first bite and then kiss your pout.

It had been a week since your spontaneous romp had ended in the untimely demise of Ash’s beloved hammock. He hadn’t let you hear the end of it since it happened and now the two of you were finally back outside, assessing the damage.

“I think I have a fabric patch kit in the garage but the framing is definitely fucked,” he mutters, picking over the pieces. “Gonna need new hooks… new spreader bar…”

“Been talking about getting one of those anyways,” you joke with a twinkle in your eye.

He gives you a look and shakes his head. “Jesus, already with you?”

You giggle and raise your arms in surrender. “I’m sorry, Ash, I honestly hate that I’m that girl but the manly man ‘lemme get my tools out and work with my hands’ act just does things for me.”

“Are you sure you want to go with me to get the supplies or are you gonna spontaneously combust right when we walk in the hardware store?” He teases, standing behind you and snaking his arms around your waist. “And you’re not that girl, you’re my girl.”

“Nice save,” you comment dryly and wiggle away from him; he chuckles warmly and you both walk back to the house.

While you’re getting ready to go, Ashton gets caught up taking notes on the hammock repair videos he’s found on YouTube so you end up heading out later than either of you intended. The home improvement store isn’t far but it’s LA so there’s still traffic and the car ride has a slightly tense air because of it.

You can tell how irritated he is by the way he’s relentlessly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as you sit in the standstill traffic. You reach out and take his hand, both to calm him and to stop the noise. He looks at you appreciatively and gestures at the line of cars in front of him with his other hand. “40 minutes to go five fuckin’ miles,” he grumbles. “There’s no way this is getting done today, the sun’s gonna be goin’ down before we even leave the goddamn store.”

You kiss the back of his hand that’s tightly squeezing yours. “I told you, I’ll help you with everything tomorrow,” you remind him reassuringly. “It’s not a big deal, just relax, baby.”

“You know what would help me relax?” He turns to you with a smirk. “If I could go home and lay in a fuckin’ hammock.”

You finally arrive at your destination and enter the store. After his YouTube deep dive, Ash decided he should install wooden posts to hang the hammock on since your sexcapade uprooted the metal stand’s legs straight out of the ground. He heads over to visit the lumber department and you decide to browse through the garden center, thinking that if you pick out some new seeds for him, it might put a smile on his face.

Ash returns to you less than 10 minutes later, looking more agitated than ever. You raise your eyebrows to him as a silent question and he huffs, “They just happened to have sold out of what I need. Gotta order it, won’t be here until next week.”

You give him a sympathetic frown and rub his back. “I’m sorry I broke your oasis center or whatever you called it earlier,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.

He cracks a smile and starts browsing the seed packs in front of you. “I called it my relaxation zone and I’m sure I’ll forgive you someday.”

You two linger in the garden section, pointing out vegetables that could be helpful to have on hand and having a mild disagreement over which flowers would look best growing next to his sunflowers. 

“My phone is dying and I need it for my shopping list, baby, can you Google and see if we can plant marigolds right now?” He asks, turning a packet of seeds over in his hands.

You pull your phone out of your back pocket, happy to see that he’s calmed down and is interested in making the most of this trip. You chirp emphatically, “Yes, sir.”

Ashton hears your response and lets out a sharp, raspy exhale that you’ve never quite heard before and he immediately tries to disguise it as a cough. You glance over at him curiously but he appears to be intensely examining the package he’s holding so you move on.

“Depends on what type but these ones you can plant through the summer, so we’re good,” you inform him, pointing to the seeds he’s holding.

“Cool,” he breezes and tosses them into your shopping cart. “What about... basil?”

“Yes, sir,” you say again, fingers adeptly typing. You hear a similar noise come from him, though he deals with it much better this second time. You’re sure this wasn’t coincidental this time and you peer at him over your phone to see his jaw clenching in a way you’re very familiar with. Interesting.

“I’m just seeing ‘warm weather’... maybe just get one pack to try?” You suggest, eyeing him, trying to figure out if what you suspect is going on is really going on.

He shrugs, “Couldn’t hurt.” He flings the packet into the cart and moves down the aisle.

Ashton tosses out a few more things for you to look up and while you’re happy to help, you’re also glad for the opportunity to test the theory you now have. You vary your affirmations to him and as you suspect, “Yes, sir” is the only one that seems to get a reaction out of him.

The garden center is located outside and the afternoon sun is just starting to hit the area you’re shopping in. You notice Ash has begun to sweat and if you weren’t in a mood before, you absolutely are now, so you decide to rile him a bit more.  

“That sun is brutal!” You start, dramatically fanning yourself. “You’re lookin’ a little warm too, handsome… unless there’s another reason why you’d be sweating.”

He looks at you incredulously and you stare back innocently, eyes wide and shining; he stares you down as he briskly takes off his black button down shirt, leaving him in a white tank. 

“Are you good or does the sight of any bare flesh in the presence of gardening paraphernalia have you needing to excuse yourself?” He fires back, whipping his shirt into the basket pointedly, glare challenging you to push your luck.

You smile sweetly and answer, “Oh, I’m feeling just fine. But thank you… sir.”

Mischievous grin on your face, you start to make your way to the end of the aisle, scooting your body between him and the shopping cart. Sure, you could’ve gone around the other side but that wouldn’t have given you the opportunity to graze your ass against his crotch to confirm - yep - he’s losing the battle he’s fighting with his cock and he is definitely harder than he wants to be right now.

As you pass by, his large hand grabs your wrist and wraps around it tightly. “Watch it,” is all he says but the low tone he uses mixed with the feeling of his hot breath on your neck has your head spinning.

You lay off your teasing for a while but if you’re being honest, you both seem to enjoy the charged air lingering between the two of you now. Ashton grabs your waist to move you out of his way so that he can look at a display and his fingers dig into your skin just a little too hard, causing you to gasp sharply. You stop to read a tag on the bottom shelf and just happen to catch his gaze as you lick your lips, on your knees in front of him; you hear him curse under his breath as he turns away, adjusting himself.

The cat and mouse game continues and judging by the hiss you get out of him the third time you “accidentally” bump his crotch, you’ve pushed it as far as you can; you know you’re probably in for a long night when you get home but maybe that’s what he needs to take his mind off of how frustrated he is with this project. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. It’s also quite fun.

You leave the garden section, cart full of various treasures, and start to head for the checkout. “Wait, baby,” Ashton calls out and you stop. “I wanna get a couple of the things I need for the hammock so when I come back for the wood I can just pop in and out of here.” 

He directs you to an area towards the back of the store; you follow him and wheel the cart down an aisle that’s filled with boxes of metal hooks and chains. He sees your eyes taking in the aisle and he makes a face at you. “Whatever obnoxiously horny crack you’re about to make, just do it now so you can help me look for what I need,” he says in faux exasperation, making a “come on” gesture with his hand.

You laugh genuinely, “I don’t have anything to say!” You walk down the aisle and peer into a few of the boxes on the shelves. “I do wonder if we might get a better price on some of these things at one of the other types of stores we frequent,” you say under your breath.

He ignores your remark and starts consulting the notes on his phone. He scans the selection of items and finds the types of hooks he needs, throwing them into your basket. He furrows his brow, unable to find the next thing on his list. 

“What are you looking for, babe? Let me help,” you ask, eager to speed things up.

“We need this,” He states, standing next to you to show you a picture of chains on his phone. 

You examine the photo and quip suggestively, “Yeah we do.”

He lands a light swat on your ass and you squeak. “Your jokes are gonna seem a lot less funny if you keep it up,” he warns quietly in your ear.

You look around and see that this section of the store is more or less deserted. Feeling emboldened by this discovery, you reach to palm him over his jeans. “Yes, sir,” you nonchalantly reply.

The words have barely left your mouth and his hand is already back around your wrist and dragging you to follow him down the aisle. Your logical mind says you should protest that his shirt, your sweater and all your intended purchases are being left in the cart unattended but the decidedly less rational section of your brain, the part that just told you to grab your boyfriend’s dick in the middle of a home improvement store, kind of wants to see where this goes.

You get your answer seconds later when he pulls you into a bathroom tucked away next to the employee break room; it’s small, only a couple of sinks and stalls, and looks infrequently used. Which is probably for the best because Ash does not appear to have any interest in taking you into a stall, at least not just yet.

He presses you up against the door, kissing you deeply with a bruising intensity. He pulls away and you gasp. “You’ve been acting up all day, sweetheart, you can’t be surprised we’ve ended up here.” His hand, large enough to reach across your entire face, grips your chin and turns you to look at him. “Is this what you’ve been aiming for, is this what you hoped would happen?”

His tone is harsh and his words threatening but his eyes glimmer with mischief, desire and excitement. You’re sure the look in your eyes matches his when you unflinchingly answer with a confident, “Yes. Sir.”

He smiles widely and leans in, kissing, nipping and sucking harshly at your neck. You groan against him, involuntarily, and then quickly wonder how thin this bathroom’s walls are and you start trying to recall if you saw anybody in the break room next door.

Ashton pulls back to admire his work on your neck and sees your concerned expression. His face softens for a minute and he asks you, “You remember your word, baby?”

You flash him a brief tender smile, appreciating how attentive he is, that he would pick up on even your briefest moment of apprehension. You nod enthusiastically and then your smile turns devilish as you think to once again answer, “Yes, sir.”

He hooks his fingers in your waistband and yanks you from the door, spinning you around and then pressing your chest into it. You hold your breath and brace yourself for the spank you’re certain is coming but it never does. You’re not sure if you’re disappointed but the way your core is throbbing hints that you probably are.

Instead of smacking your ass, Ash is rutting up against it, breath heavy against your neck, giving you goosebumps. “Feel this, baby? You knew what you were doing out there, you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Gave you my cock this morning and you’re still begging for it, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip and wiggle against him, enjoying the feeling of his hard bulge pressing into you. “Yes, sir.”

Before you even realize he’s pulled away, that hard smack you’d been waiting for comes down on your ass and you cry out in surprise.

"That’s for being smart.” He presses his body roughly up against yours again and shoves his hand down your shorts, dragging his fingers through your folds, humming at the wetness he discovers there. “We’re on a fuckin’ shopping trip and you’re this wet for me? Even more desperate than I thought… and believe me, you were already very desperate in my mind.”

Ashton yanks his hand out of your shorts and pulls you away from the door, unceremoniously pushing you towards the sink counter. “Off,” he commands, gesturing to your bottoms. There’s not a lock on the bathroom door so he drags the metal trash can in front of the door, wedging it somewhat under the handle. “We already know you clearly can’t keep quiet, can’t have anyone barging in here to see who’s demeaning themself in the bathroom,” he taunts. “That’s only for me to see.”

You and Ash used to play like this all the time when you first got together but lately you’d gotten so caught up in your bubble of domestic bliss, it had fallen by the wayside. Things weren’t boring or unadventurous by any means but it’d been a minute since your last risky public romp or use of any degradation. Combining the two, plus the thrill of jumping back in after so long? Heavenly.

You hop up on the counter in your panties, shedding your tank top and spreading your legs, inviting him closer. “Yes, sir,” you tease with a sultry smile. “I’m your slut, no one else’s.”

He walks over and settles between your legs, kissing you hungrily as he unzips his pants and takes his cock out. “That’s right,” he growls. “Love hearing you say that… In fact, think I want you to see that too.” 

He grabs you down off your perch and spins you to face the mirror lining the sink, your hands fly out to brace yourself as he presses you up against the counter, kicking your legs apart. He makes quick work of tugging your panties down your legs and then reaching over to jerk the cups of your bra down. You watch your reflection as he exposes more of your body to himself and now to you; you don’t even process your nakedness, your only thought is of how blown your pupils look.

Ashton lines himself up and pushes his cock inside you and begins thrusting roughly. You were undoubtedly turned on but the stretch is still a lot and you find yourself gasping and white-knuckling the counter at the sensation. 

He sees your eyes start to close and he yanks your hair to get your attention. “I said I want you to see what a slut you are,” he breathes, already struggling to control himself. “Want you to see what I see, want you to see what everyone is gonna see if that door stop doesn’t hold up and someone comes in here and finds me giving you what you’ve been needing so badly.”

You whimper quietly at his words, at the thought of being caught. “Yes, sir… I love seeing how I look with your cock inside me…” You pant, “I already look so fucked out and we’ve barely started… I just wanted it so much.”

He slaps your ass again and the already loud smack sounds even louder given your setting. “We’re only at this fucking store today because we had to solve a problem created by your greedy little pussy and now that we’re here? You can’t even act right for a couple hours, got me hard looking at fucking flowers, now I’m having to bend you over in a fucking bathroom? How embarrassing,” he rasps at you through gritted teeth.

You love when he’s like this, you feel like you could almost cum from his words alone; you know it’s risking setting him off but you reach down and start rubbing your clit, you can’t help it. Ash immediately notices and laughs darkly. “Aww, baby, that time already? Go ahead and make yourself cum, sugar, the faster that needy pussy gets satisfied, the faster I can get on with my fucking day… until you’re back to begging me for it when we get home, of course.”

You’re aggressively meeting his thrusts now, throwing yourself back on him with pleasure being your only concern. You’d love to respond to his teasing with some sass of your own, rile him up some more but he’s hitting inside you just right and the only thing you can think to do is moan.

Seconds after you let out a particularly long moan, you notice voices can faintly be heard on the other side of the door, a pair of employees walking through the hallway. You catch Ashton’s gaze in the mirror and you can see the question in his eyes, letting you decide if you want to stop; you surprise yourself with how little you care and you stare at his reflection as you bounce yourself against him and rub your clit faster.

An amused smile paints his face and he whispers, “Starting to think you might want everyone to know what a slut you are for me. Is that what you want, baby?” His fingers dig into your skin as he drives his hips relentlessly into yours.

To keep from crying out, you bite your lip hard enough you’re almost sure you’re breaking the skin. You manage to gasp out, “Yes, sir,” before your orgasm completely takes your breath away.

The combination of you cumming around him and your breathless use of that phrase finally does Ash in and he thrusts into you only a few more times before his cock starts pumping you full of cum. Those voices outside the door are still somewhat present and you watch his reflection as he tries not to make a sound, fascinated by the way his jaw almost seems to be clenching in time with the pulsing of your pussy.

You both stand at the sink, catching your breath for a good minute, reality slowly starting to fade back in. You close your eyes and open them again, giggling once your mind finally starts to process the sight of yourself tits out, bottomless and bent over a bathroom sink in a hardware store.

Ashton smiles at the sound of your laughter and pulls out of you, hurriedly reaching for a handful of paper towels to help you clean up before things get too messy.

You accept his help and wryly ask, “You’re not gonna do the whole ‘no, put your panties back on, want you to feel my cum dripping out of you until we get home’ thing?”

He looks at you with amusement in his eyes and replies, “Gross, babe, we still have to go through checkout and everything. Jesus.”

You snort and pull him into you, kissing him sweetly before you both start the process of making yourselves and the bathroom look like nothing happened. 

You manage to exit both the bathroom and the store without anyone catching on; you notice he’s in a much lighter mood and much more affectionate and touchy than he was earlier. You like it.

There’s traffic on the drive home but it doesn’t seem to bother either one of you; you’re excitedly chatting about the purchases you made and trying to decide what to order for dinner.

There’s a lull in the conversation and you can’t fight the urge to comment, “So… you definitely can’t tease me anymore for getting turned on by home improvement because I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna be able to visit that store without getting just a little bit hard now.”

The giggle Ash lets out fills the car and it’s the best sound you’ve heard all day. “I think whatever sex demon possessed you last week got to me,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “I literally had to stop myself from eating my cum out of you. That’s how far gone I was.”

You playfully jab his side. “I can’t even get you to do that at home and you’re trying to do it in a public bathroom? And we call me the slut in this relationship.”

He laughs again and squeezes your thigh affectionately. “Well… we have fun, don’t we?”

You place your hand on top of his, turn to him and grin. “Yes, sir.”

—-

My tag list is breaking my posts atm so apologies if you get tagged more than once/don’t get tagged at all while I figure out what the problem is!

—-

@mymindwide @suchalonelysunflower  @loveroflrh @ghostofmashton @sexgodashton @ashtonangst  @castaway-cashton @boomerash  @megz1985 @ashdork-irwin @angelicfluffs @findingliam-o @abadaftertaste  @myloverboyash @youngbloodchild @irwinsbetch @ashsun @everyscarisahealingplace @wiildflower-xxx  @metalandboybands @another-lonely-heart @realisticnotes @makeamovehemmings @ashtondaddy90 @golden166 @burstintocolor @mfartzzz @babyoria @saphseoul @petunias-pet @youngblood199456 @notinthesameway- @seanna313 @calumftduke @zhangyixingxing1 @stardust-galaxies @Redeserts @zackoid @queenalienscherrypie @xsongxbirdx @justhereforcalum @laura66sos @calumrose @karajaynetoday @valdanvers @Obey-Kaylin 

Click here if you’d like to be tagged for future fics and click here if your name is on my list but crossed out (Tumblr won’t let me @ you)

#5sos smut #ashton irwin smut #ashton smut #5 seconds of summer smut #ashton irwin fic #kindahoping4forever #smut #kh4f fic #Yes Sir #I have no idea where this came from and I can't believe I wrote this in a day lol #the clownery #fr shouts to everyone who encouraged me to churn this out #it was a challenge but i definitely feel accomplished and am happy with the result tbh #ALSO #if people are still interested in a True Sequel to this story lmk lol #That hammock ain't gonna fix itself #Feedback is appreciated #thank you for reading 🙏🏼

[ow-anteater]

I’m gonna need more character style analysis, please. 🥺🥺 (maybe Jesse McCree 👉🏻👈🏻)

OH MY GOD I MISSEE THE WORD STYLE HDSJDNISJGXBSJCHSJZ IM SO SORRY I WILL GIVE MORE OUTFIT IDEAS ANYWAY HERES A CHARACTER ANALYSIS

Omg thank you so much, I’m always here to ramble about my fictional people of choice I’m sorry if this is disjointed or repetitive I literally just read the ask, sat down, got possessed by an evil McCree stan and wrote this

So I’ve actually already shared a lot of what informs my McCree in this post, and it hasn’t really changes since then, but I’ll never get tired of talking about him. I’ll also have to add that how I view McCree is largely colored by the fic author Motorghost, their McCree is so vibrant and intelligent and full of depth and reading their fics really made me think more about him? (warning that they do write NSFW fics, if you’re sensitive to seeing sexual themes written in the tags, don’t follow the link to their AO3)

So! I like to think of McCree as a character driven very much by guilt, let me explain:

I believe him to be sarcastic and snappy and kind of sharp, but very good and idealistic deep down. I’m also very fond of the idea that Deadlock didn’t start quite as ‘sinister’ as it has become; that it was more about community and rebellion in the beginning and the practicality of ‘we’ve got to make money somehow and crime is a good business’ really didn’t suit him? He’s idealistic and cares very much about the greater good, Ashe watches out for her own even if at the expense of everybody else - I love the idea that that’s what drove them apart so violently

When he got roped into blackwatch it was unwillingly, but he didn’t ideologically disagree with the broad strokes of what was happening. Here, for the first time, he dared to really truly believe in something and fight tooth and nail for it because here was the possibility to make a difference on a scale that mattered. And it was tough, brutally so, but it was also worth it?

And that’s where that guilt comes in. He believed in something for perhaps the first time in his life and he let it all crumble (Or worse still; he did all he could and it did not matter in the end) - at least that’s how he sees it, let it all sour and become something it was not supposed to be. In the years after the fall I think he’d been heartbroken.

I think his multiple voice lines that hint at being ‘a bad man’ or whatever are super interesting because I don’t think we’ve ever seen him be cruel? His self image is so harshly opposed to his actual actions and I like to believe it’s cause he’s very much struggling with the after shock of having struggled, of having believed wholeheartedly and recklessly and have it all corrupt anyway. So much of his humor and charm reads to me as - yes honest charisma - but also heaps of protectiveness and deflection. I also think this makes sense as the reason why he’s so hesitant to join the recall. He thinks he had his chance and he fucking failed, he’s not deserving of that chance - or capable of bearing that responsibility - and perhaps in that complicated mix of bitter self loathing and hostility towards the whole organization he’s also convinced himself the whole idea of a bright further was naive and unattainable.

And by god I know they probably won’t, but I hope his role in OW2 touches on the possible aching, terrifying idea of going back to something you thought you weren’t deserving of. An idea and a world you would have happily died for, but couldn’t realize.

also McCree struggled with addiction - especially alcohol - in the years after the fall I will hear no other opinions

#overwatch #ask #thank you so much for thiiiiiiis #🥺🥺🥺 #McCree #Jesse McCree #I CANT READ #I GOT SO EXCITED I LITERALLY SHORT CIRCUITED #HERE ARE SOME EMBARRASING MCCREE THOUGHTS

[nanamikeento]

dancing with our hands tied || pt. i

Pairing: Marcus Pike x female!reader

Summary: Marcus is your boss and you really enjoy working with him. But a work trip to the west coast makes him visit the past and you realize not only you like him, but you’re deeply in love with him. The only problem is that you both work together and it would never work. Or so you think.

a/n: so basically i had to split this bad boy in two cause i was writing a whole damn the mentalist episode. all you need to know is: i know nothing about how the FBI works or how crimes are solved, so i made it all up. deeply sorry if i offend any fbi agents that could be here?? if you don’t watch the mentalist, basically patrick jane is an asshole that can read people’s body language and points them out in public. that’s really all you need to know, it’s a dumb show tbh. also, this contains detective work and law enforcement, which, during times like this, i would understand if you don’t want to read this. don’t forget to donate to the black lives matter movement and sign petitions against police brutality. i’ve reblogged a variety of posts with link for donations and petitions, they're under the tag #blm resources.

Warnings: mutual pining, some angst, a pinch of fake dating

Word count: 6.7k (and there’s more coming)

part ii | MASTERLIST

The badge around your neck swings as you run and you have to hold it in place. The streets of L.A. are full of curious eyes, gathered behind the yellow tape; you check your phone one more time and sigh. No messages, no missing calls. It’s not like him, you know something’s up.

When you show your ID to the police officer that’s in charge of controlling the people, he lets you duck under the tape and approach the other agents already in the scene. You exhale, panting from your run as you introduce yourself.

“I’m with the FBI,” You tell them after stating your name. They all eye you like you’re from another dimension.

“What’s the FBI’s interest in all this?” Asks a red haired agent whose name you don’t know.

You take a look at the corpse on the ground. “‘Cause this is our guy.”

Crouching next to the lifeless body, you take a pair of latex gloves from the pocket of your jacket and put them on; with gentle fingers you tilt the dead’s head sideways so you can look for a specific mark behind his ear.

"Yep," You tilt the man's head for everyone to see a burning scar on the shape of an eye. "The Crystal Eyes gang.” You take the man’s hand to show the pinky finger ring the gang members wear, but it’s missing. Furrowing your brows you notice the tan line on his finger, where the ring should be.

The only man who actually smiles at your statement is the blond, blue-eyed guy. The rest of the agents sigh and roll her eyes, and you frown already irritated. First, your partner doesn’t show to a crime scene of a case he’s the head of, then these CBI agents are clearly not your fans.

The woman who seemed to be the boss rolls her eyes at the man and looks at your direction. Her blue eyes darting to you with anger and you’re not sure if it’s directed at you or the man with the arrogant smile. When she speaks, her voice is demanding, like she’s also your boss. “Are you leading this case on your own? Where is your partner?”

It takes everything in you not to tell her to fuck off. “He’s–” You swallow. “Coming.” You stand, looking away as you take off the gloves and discard them. Taking another look at your phone, you sigh in disappointment when you see nothing. Fucking hell, he’s not coming. What an idiot. “So, this guy’s name is–”

“You’re lying.” A voice interrupted you. It’s the man with the arrogant smile. “He’s not coming, is he?” You watch the way he smiles at you. “You keep checking your phone and the way you looked away when you talked tells us you’re either waiting for someone’s call or you’re checking to see if something happened to him.”

Fuck. How does he know all that? Were you that transparent or are you just a bad liar?

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” You ask him, shoving your hands in the pockets of your FBI jacket.

“Jane.” He smiles, showing you an ID card that has a picture of him above the name ‘Patrick Jane’. “Consultant.”

Nodding slowly, you frown at him. “Jane.” You tilt your head as you speak. “He’s coming, don’t worry. If he doesn’t arrive, he must have a great, great excuse for his absence. Either way it doesn’t concern you. What you do need to know is that him and I are after this gang for about a year now, and this is the first lead we have in three months. We’re more than capable of handling this.”

“Clearly not, if your partner is not even here,” The boss says. You exhale sharply. You were going to kill your partner.

“Listen, Agent…”

“Lisbon.”

“Agent Lisbon,” You repeat her name. “I know it’s hard to see a case being taken from your team, and I’m sorry about this, but– You gotta let me do my job.”

Lisbon sighs, crossing her arms “What do they do? The gang. Do they sell drugs? They kill people? Maybe there’s something we can help you with.”

“Well, I’m with the art squad so…” You pause. “They steal art.”

You watch as all the agents look at their boss and an awkward silence tenses the air. Lisbon widen her eyes and then looks away from you, clearing her throat. It’s like their own unspoken thing.

“Art?” Patrick says, amused. “From where?”

The way he says it makes it look like a joke and you’re not sure if he’s mocking you or not.

“Art galleries, museums, you pick.” You shrug, crossing your arms in a defensive manner. “They see a place with an expensive art piece? They steal. It could even be a rich man’s living room. When it comes to Crystal Eyes, they don’t give a fuck.”

Silence hangs in the air and you could hear a pin drop, even out here in the open. Finally, red haired woman, Van Pelt clears her throat, alleviating a bit of the tension you still don’t know why it’s there.

“And, uh–” She swallows. “These robberies involve killing other people or…?”

“No, they usually use a stealth strategy.” You almost sigh, relieved for the broken silence. “Although, one time, they killed an old man at his own mansion when the robbery didn’t go as planned. I don’t believe this an accident, though.”

“Interesting,” Jane mumbled. “Hey, do you happen to know an Agent–”

“We’re done here!” Lisbon interrupts him and starts walking away. You watch her give him a look only a wife would give to her husband. Quickly glancing at their hands, you notice they use the same ring on the same finger.

Of course they’re married.

Lisbon says your name, getting your attention again and nods at you. “He’s all yours. Have fun.”

And with that, her and her team walk away from the scene. Sighing, you check your phone one last time. Still, no messages, no missing calls, not even a text. Nothing. Gritting your teeth, you shake your head.

“Godammint, Pike.”

…

You and your team had been in California literally for half a day before the call for the dead guy came in. It’s the first lead you all have on this gang in three months, so as soon as one of the informants let you know one of the leader were in L.A., you all flew to the west coast and based yourselves in one of the FBI quarters.

As soon as you walk in the big room, you see Marcus’ sitting at his desk, typing something on a computer that looks like it hasn’t been used since the 90’s.

“Pike!” You exclaim, getting his attention. His face changes from focused, to confused, to a tired look in a matter of seconds. Strolling towards him, you watch as he leans back on his chair. “Three years I’ve been working with you and you’ve never pulled a stunt like this!” You slam your hand on his desk, making everyone around you jump, except from him. “If you wanted me to look like an idiot in front of the CBI guys, well, you did it!”

He raises his hands in defense and says your name, the low baritone of his voice is enough to send shivers down your spine, but not right now. Not today, when you’re angry at him like this.

“Oh, please, do tell,” You grunt, shifting the weight of your body to one leg as you cross your arms. “I’m eager to know why you didn’t show in such an important crime scene, leaving me alone to deal with them.”

Marcus gaped at you for a second and then sighed softly. “I got stuck in the traffic.”

You roll your eyes. “Bullshit. I was miles away and managed to get there before forensics.”

He stared at you for a moment and then sighed. “I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry.”

“Well, let this be the first and last time.” You warned him, pointing a finger to him.

“May I remind you I’m your boss, Agent?” He gives you a teasing smile, leaning back on the chair.

You sigh shaking your head. “Yeah, you seem to forget that sometimes.”

His eyes left yours and you felt a pang of sorrow for him, not knowing exactly why. You and Marcus have always had a love-hate relationship. Even though he's technically your boss, you've always treated him like equal. Yelling at him in front of colleagues wasn't a new thing, and to be honest, he’s already used to it. Shaking your head, you stroll over to the furthest desk and sit down, claiming the spot as yours for the time you stay in L.A.

Marcus Pike is an excellent agent. He’s dedicated and hardworking and a damn good boss. The man was born to lead, the passion he has for his job impresses you. Ever since you’ve joined the squad, you’ve been assigned with him as your partner. Back then, everyone told you how lucky you were to be working beside him. Three years later, you still feel lucky to work to have him as your partner. Just not today.

Needless to say, you have a mild crush on him. When you first met him, your first thought was that he was incredibly handsome. And then you were gradually being acquainted with his work style, with the way he worked hard, so your feelings for him just grew stronger over the time. You’ve become closer him over the course of the years and you know him just as well as he knows you. Which is why you just snapped at him. He’d never allow such thing if any other member of the squad talked to him like you did.

Little do you know that Marcus is harvesting a crush on you too. It’s been a while since the feelings had started to make its way to his heart. He’s not sure when it started, but he knows it’s there. He feels it every time you smile and laugh at one of his jokes. He feels it every time you come up with a lead, every time you arrest a criminal. He feels it when he sees you wearing the FBI jacket, looking so pretty with your hair in a low bun or in a ponytail. Hell, he feels it when you’re mad at him.

Marcus glances at you, from his claimed desk and sees you looking at the computer screen, forehead creased in concentration as you filled in the report from the crime scene. Sighing, he looks back at his own computer, feeling his heart sink. Three years you’ve been working together and not once you showed up with a boyfriend. Claiming your job was more important to you at the moment, you just stated that you have no time for relationships. You want to focus on your career, make a name for yourself.

Which is why you and him would never work.

The clock ticked slowly that morning as you all put the leads together to find out who killed the man of the gang. His name was Liam Dixon and he had a big name in the gang, his picture pinned on the cork board from your office back in New York for months. And now, he just drops dead. During a briefing, someone suggested it might have been an accident, a mugging that went wrong, but you know it’s more than that. Saying that the only thing that has been missing from the body was the ring, you argued that it could be either personal or a gang conflict that went wrong. Marcus agreed with you. The orientation he gave everyone is look into police calls for stolen art recently in L.A. That way, you can all have a hint where the gang is acting.

When lunch time arrives, you sigh as you check your phone and stand from your desk. Organizing your desk, you pick up the post-it notes and empty coffee cups and throw them in the trash, when you see a figure approaching you.

“Let me make it up to you,” Pike says, leaning his hand on your desk. “I know a good place where we can have lunch.”

…

Going on lunch breaks with him isn’t unfamiliar to you, but you’re still upset at him, so you order a salad and eat in silence as he eats his own meal too.

“How was the crime scene?” He tries to make conversation.

“You’d know if you were there.” The words come out too fast from your lips and you quickly shoot him an apologetic look.

“You’re still upset?”

Waving a hand at him, you shook your head. “I’m just being petty.” You swallow your food. “The scene was packed, lot of curious eyes. I got there and the CBI guys were in the scene.”

He nods, considering his next words. “Is Patrick Jane still a part of the CBI team?”

“The consultant?” Your voice gives a hint of surprise. “Yeah, he was there. Kinda weird guy if you ask me.”

Pike laughs softly, shaking his head. “Don’t let your guard down near him. He’ll read you like an open book.”

“What do you mean?” You take a sip of your water, eyeing him.

“He’s… Very observant,” He explains. “He’s good at reading people and he has no filter. If something is bothering you, he will let everyone know.”

“Huh.” You smile. “What a weirdo.”

Silence hangs in the air as you both eat. A comfortable silence, a good one.

“Did you meet Lisbon?” He asks, suddenly.

Frowning at him, you nod, biting a piece of broccoli. “Yeah, do you know her?”

Marcus sighs, drinking the rest of his water. Something in his demeanor tells you he’s… Sad, maybe? His eyelids drop to his plate and his shoulders slump as he hangs his head low. You’ve been coexisting with him long enough to tell he’s not okay. Then, a thought occurs to you.

“She’s the ex, isn’t she?” You ask, quietly. He looks up at her and nods, his expression changing, covering the trace of sadness from his face.

Marcus had told you about an ex who left him for another man during one of your stakeouts together. It broke your heart to know that a man like him, so sweet and hardworking, was left twice by women who didn’t appreciate him. You told him that they it was their loss and, after he laughed at your corny attempt at comforting him, you said that if they didn’t leave him, you’ve had never met him. That night, he looked at you like you were the light of his life. Every time you remember, you feel butterflies on your stomach and smile to yourself.

It was nearly two years ago.

And it’s not like Marcus is not over Lisbon, after all it’s been five years since the breakup. But he’s still not ready to face her. Not again. Not after the last time he saw her with Jane and felt his heart bleed. He just doesn’t want to get hurt again.

“How is–” He clears his throat. “How is she?”

“Fat.” You shake your head, grimacing at him. “Her hair was all over the place, pimples on her skin, bad breath, lettuce on her teeth–”

Marcus lets out a laugh, shaking his head. It’s the kind of laugh that makes him throw his head back and wrinkle the corner of his eyes, and, god, his smile is beautiful. He laughs genuinely and you know that, because you've heard it before. You hear it when you are in stakeouts together and you'd crack a joke he'd really liked. You hear it in birthday parties of the members of the squad, when he’s tipsy and drunk happy. You hear it when you make your snarky remarks at the perks you arrest. You could watch him laugh for hours and you would never get tired of the view, of the sound of it. It makes your stomach churn with pleasure to know that you’re the one who provoked this laugh on him. As he wipes the corners of his eyes, you smile at him, laughing softly.

“Nice try, but–” He laughs. “Thanks.”

You just shrug, shaking your head. “Is that why you didn’t go to the crime scene?”

Pike’s smile fades away and you regret the question when you see the expression he gives you. Something tells you to take it back, to apologize and leave it like that, but if he didn’t want to face her… Then, maybe, he still has feelings for her. And the thought, somehow, hurts you.

“Yeah, I, uh–” He swallows. “I don’t think I’m ready to face her again.”

“Oh.” Is all you say.

After finishing your lunch, you both pay the bill and leave the restaurant. The thick, awkward silence grows heavy between the two of you as you both walk together back to the quarters. You want to speak, but you don’t know how to comfort him, how to make him feel better. And then a different voice calls his name.

“Marcus?”

You both stop walking and turn around. Lisbon and Jane, hands laced together, are staring at the both of you. Marcus’s heart almost stop at the sight, his breath get caught on his throat as he widens his eyes.

“Teresa,” He replies, a surprised tone in his voice, eyeing Jane and nodding at him. “Patrick.”

“I see you kept the, uh–” Jane points at his own face to indicate a beard. “The look.”

Marcus nods at him, but doesn’t respond. You nod shortly at Patrick and glance at Lisbon.

“How– How are you?” She asks, looking right into his eyes. A shot of jealousy hits your heart, and you swallow hard trying to push the feeling away.

“Good,” Marcus answer, smiling. “You?”

“Good.” She smiles at him and you have to look away. Pursing your lips, you discreetly take a deep breath and cross your arms.

This woman had Marcus wrapped around her finger and really discarded him when she decided she didn’t want him. She played with his feelings until she got tired and left, not knowing she had a great man who was in love with her and was willing to do anything for her. She doesn’t know how lucky she was for having him. The anger sets in your chest faster than expected as they make small talk, but you don’t listen to them. You can’t, or you’ll explode with anger. It’s Jane’s voice that pulls you out of you thoughts.

“You’re jealous.” His voice is directed to you and both of them stop talking to look at you.

“What?” You frown in confusion.

“Your lips.” He points to his own lips as he talks. “They’re pursed together. You’re crossing your arms to shield yourself, and you have this… Sour expression on your face.”

Widening your eyes, you look at Pike but he’s just as surprised as you are.

“You have feelings for Agent Pike and you’re jealous that he’s giving attention to his ex girlfriend.” Jane smiled triumphant. You gape, feeling your heart speed, and the heat on your cheeks as you look at him surprised. Lisbon shoots a look at Jane as if she’s saying stop reading people without their permission. Your eyes are focused on the ground, knowing that if you look at Pike, it'll be game over.

"Of course she has feelings for me." Pike laughs softly after a short awkward pause. You shoot a look at him, a frown in your brow, confused as hell. "She's my girlfriend."

A silent pause hangs between all of them. Agent Lisbon frowns deeply, widening her eyes to the both of you. Jane's smile fades away. Pike's smile grows wider. And you… You just look at him in shock, thinking about how quickly he thought of the lie. It's unnecessary to lie, there's no point in telling the CBI that you were together, except–

He wanted to impress Lisbon. Of course.

Trying to conceal your emotions from Jane, cause he'd know if you're lying, you smile at the couple and laugh softly. Marcus approaches you and lays his palm flat on your lower back. A touch that makes you tense and melt at the same time. The warmth of his hand gives you some comfort and, despite everything going on, it's a comfort you needed for a really long time.

"We're trying to keep it a secret, for now." The words roll off easily from your lips and when you see, you're already wrapping an arm around his torso, smiling as brightly as you can. "Because we're coworkers, and we don't know how the squad would react." And then, with a playful tone, you look at Pike. "But someone can't keep his mouth shut."

Marcus laughs, shaking his head. A fake laugh.

"I just can't contain myself." He leans towards you to press his lips on the crown of your head. “I’m too happy with you.”

It shouldn’t make your heart jump, but it does. You look up at him and give him a real smile this time, your eyes softening as a light breath leaves your lips. He looks at you and notices it, slightly tilting his head like a confused puppy, reading your expression too well. Your smile fades for a moment as you look away, but the fake smile returns when you look at Patrick.

“Oh,” He says, looking a little too disappointed.

“We have to go,” You tell them, smiling. “We got a gang to catch.”

As soon as you both are out of their sight, you let go of each other. The walk back to the quarters is silent and awkward and you have to put an effort to not blush the entire way. Pike warned you, the man is good at reading people. And he really has no filter at all. You just hope that your partner thinks Jane is wrong, you can’t afford him knowing about your feelings for him.

When you reach the doors to the quarters, he calls your name, stopping by the steps. Looking back at him, you see him, with his hands on his hips and his eyes on the floor. You swallow, feeling your heart speed up.

“About what Jane said–”

“He was wrong.” You’re quick to interrupt. Marcus’ eyes dart up to you and you have to stop yourself from sighing.

“He’s never wrong.” His voice is soft and there’s a hint of something in his eyes. It’s something sparkly, like– Like hope. You have to look away, pushing the feeling away as you shove your hands in the pockets of your jacket.

“Well, he was,” You tell him, and when he says your first name, “We’re coworkers. Don’t worry, I don’t have feelings for you.”

With that, you turn your back to him and enters the quarters, the lie still burning your throat. Heading straight to the bathroom, you feel your eyes watering. By the time you lock the door, they run down your cheeks and you sob. You didn’t know why it hurt so much to lie to him, but it does.

You’re really into him, aren’t you?

…

Another member of the gang was murdered. Frederick Hale, second to leader of the Crystal Eye, was found dead by gunshot wounds almost in the same street Liam Dixon was found. When you and Pike got the crime scene to identify the body, forensics were almost done with everything.

“That doesn’t make sense,” You say, gripping you tea mug on the table. During the briefing, your brain is working like a machine, trying to figure out why the member of the gang were dropping like flies.

“Could be a coincidence.” Russell suggested, shrugging.

“It could be, but two members in the same day?” You argue.

“It’s not a coincidence,” Pike tells everyone. “Ballistics came through. Liam and Frederick were killed by the same gun.”

It doesn’t surprise you. You knew it was too good to be a coincidence.

“So, someone is definitely taking them out.” You nod.

“Maybe they both fucked up, and the man was mad about it.” Davis shrugs.

“No, it’s not like Yosef,” Pike says, sitting down and crossing his arms. The shirt tightens around his arms and you look away quickly, not letting the horny thoughts distract you from the investigation. “He doesn’t eliminate his members like that.”

“What if someone’s infiltrated in the gang?” You bite your thumbnail, like you always do, a habit Marcus noticed you did in the first week of working with you. You do it when you’re concentrated, thinking of something important.

“Like an informant?” He asks, looking at you. You don’t meet his gaze.

“No, no. Like– Someone who joined it with the specific purpose of killing them?”

“Like an avenger?” Davis scoffs and you shoot an angry look at him.

“Yeah,” Pike says, nodding. “I thought the same thing.”

Finally, finally you look at him. He gives you an assuring look as he's saying I agree with you and I have your back at the same time. That’s a thing you like about him. The way you both communicate without words. You open your mouth to agree, but his phone rings before you make a word out. He picks it up, dismissing you all with a wave of his hand and you sigh, standing up and walking to your desk.

You only get to turn the computer screen before Marcus makes a quick beeline for you and asks if he could talk to you for a moment. Outside. Feeling your stomach churning, you nod, knowing something is wrong. Following him to the back patio of the building, you take a couple of deep breaths, preparing yourself for whatever is coming. When you both are in a safe distance from the other members of the squad, he turns to you and sighs.

“That was Jane on the phone.” He explains, quickly.

A frown is on your forehead. “Jane? Patrick Jane?”

“Yeah.” He breathes, wetting his lips with his tongue and exhaling softly. “He invited us to a double date.”

A laugh escapes your lips and you smile, thinking it’s a joke. “A double date with who?”

His face is serious when he answers. “You and me, him and Teresa.”

The smile falls from your face and you tilt your head, knowing there’s more to it. “And you said no, right?”

Marcus’ gaze is on the floor as he avoids the question by staying in silence.

“Pike.” You insist. “Tell me you said no.” No answer. “Please, tell you said we’re going to be busy or that we had plans already.

You wait for his answer until he finally looks at you again. “I said yes.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you close your eyes and sigh deeply. Marcus bites his bottom lip, eagerly waiting for an answer, leg bouncing in anxiety.

“Why?” You ask, eyes still closed.

“I-I– I just–”

“Is this about Teresa?” You interrupt him before he could think of what to say. “Is this you trying to prove a point to her?”

“No!” He answers too quickly and you narrow your eyes at him. “Y-you know I can’t lie to Jane, he’ll know if I do!”

“Not even on the phone?!” You argue.

“Trust me, he’d know.”

Looking away, you sigh, crossing your arms. Marcus knows he’s putting you in a difficult position and the truth is that he doesn’t actually know why he said yes to the date. Maybe he just wishes he could go out with you and, knowing you would refuse his invitation if it was a normal situation, he accepted to continue to lie to Teresa and Patrick just to go out with you.

“Fine.” You finally answer. “When?”

“Tonight, eight o’clock.”

Sighing, once more, you nod. “Okay. But his ends tonight. No more lies. We’re here to work.”

He raises his hands in defense. “I promise, boss.”

“Fuck.” You mumble, walking away from him and ignoring the teasing nickname,

This is bullshit.

 …

Why this had to happen?

You look at yourself in the mirror for the hundredth time. The hotel room is a mess, clothes all scattered around the floor and bed. You didn’t bring any date clothes. Not even a casual dress. Not even a formal dress. You weren’t counting on going on a fucking date with a fake boyfriend.

The only formal set of clothes you bring is a plaid gray skirt, with length just above the knees, and a blazer in the same color and pattern. You put it in your suitcase just in case you’d have to attend an audience or be in the presence of a judge. Pairing it with a long sleeved black shirt and a pair of your usual office heels – black stiletto heels with a pointed toe – you decided this is the outfit.

Many times you imagined what your first date with Marcus would be. Your imagination liked to go far, from movie dates to fancy dinners, after all, it doesn’t hurt to think, right? But you never, ever imagined it would be like this. Faking a relationship to impress his ex. It kinda hurts, you realize, being a pawn to his game. But, deep down, you were dying for an excuse to go out with him. Even if it might be unprofessional. You just wish it would be you and him only.

A soft knock on your door announces he’s ready. You check your makeup and adjust your hair quickly, before walking to the door. You open it to a see a very handsome Marcus Pike standing at your door. He’s wearing a black suit and tie, like he usually does at work, but something is different. He’s neater, his hair is combed in place and his beard is trimmed and… Is he wearing cologne? The smell invades your nostrils and intoxicates you quickly, in a good way.

“Should I have shaved?” He asks, when you don’t speak. You blink, returning to the real world.

“No.” You shake your head, smiling. “You look– You look great.”

A shy smile curves the corners of his lips. “You too.”

You wave a hand at him, grabbing your clutch bag and closing the door behind you.

“I didn’t bring anything fancy, so…” You try to explain yourself.

“No, no, you look–” He hesitates. “You look beautiful.”

Feeling your cheeks warm, you look away from him, clearing your throat. Marcus is still amazed by you, looking so different tonight. Your hair is down and he fights the urge to run his fingers through it. In the three years he’s known you, he tries to think when he ever saw you with your hair down and he can’t. This might be the first time.

“Shall we?” You pull him out of his thoughts. He nods, and offers his arm for you to hook yours in it. You feel nervous, but for some reason, there’s a good feeling settled in your stomach.

Soft classical music reaches your ears as you enter the fancy restaurant, Marcus following right behind you, his hand hovering your lower back. As soon as you enter, a receptionist smiles and asks for your names.

“Yeah, we’re under the name Jane,” Marcus says, nodding once at her. She checks a list and tells you both to follow her.

She guides you both to an empty table and, for a moment, you think maybe they’re late, until you realize it’s a table for two. Your stomach drops and you swallow, frowning confused at the lady. Marcus laughs softly and shakes his head.

“No, there must be a mistake,” He says.

The receptionist frowns and checks the list again. “It says here you’ve reserved a table for two, Mister Jane.”

Marcus gapes at her as she walks away leaving you two behind. A waiter is politely waiting for you both to sit down at the table to hand you the menu, but you just look at each other, mouths hanged open.

“Maybe–” You say, swallowing hard. “Maybe we’re at the wrong restaurant.”

“No, he did this.” He whispers to you as you look at him, confused. “He set us up.”

A scoff leaves his throat as you look at him, pale and shaking. Does that mean you’re on an actual date… With Marcus Pike?

“What do we do now?” You ask, holding your clutch bag tightly with your hands.

“Well, we have two options. We can leave, and that’s okay if you want to.” He looks you in the eyes, leaning slightly towards you in honesty. “Or we can have dinner.”

The look you give him is one he can decipher. He can’t tell if you’re offended by the proposition or just thinking about it. Deep down he’s hoping you say yes, hoping you’d have dinner with him, just you and him. Then, a shy smile curves the corners of your lips and you shrug.

“Okay,” You tell him. “Since I’ve put on makeup and got all dressed up.”

He smiles at you and walks to the table to pull the chair for you to sit on. As the waiter hands you the menu and Marcus sits down in front of you, you try to calm down your nerves and try not to think you’re in an actual date with Agent Pike aka your boss. You order white wine and him Whiskey. After the waiter leaves, a moment of silence hangs between the both of you until you laugh nervously.

“I gotta admit,” You say, laughing. “Going on a date with my boss is kinda… Weird.”

Marcus stares at you for a few seconds and you wonder if saying the d-word was a bad move. But then he smiles, looking down at the menu and shaking his head.

“Just… Don’t think of me as Agent Pike. Tonight I’m just Marcus.”

“Marcus.” You repeat his name and nod. “Okay, Marcus… So what do you do for fun?”

Marcus breath almost hitches at the way you say his name and he imagines a thousand scenarios where you say his name like that. He clears his throat and swallows, closing the menu and looking at you.

“You know, the usual,” He answers. “Drink beer, watch TV.”

You smile, raising your eyebrows. “That’s all?” You tease. “You’re going to tell me Agent Marcus Pike doesn’t have a hobby?”

“C’mon.” He laughs. “You know which are my hobbies. You’ve known me for years.”

“Hmm, yes.” You smile. “But you said you’re Marcus tonight and I’m just trying to get to know you.”

Marcus looked at you with warmth in his eyes. A certain look that makes your stomach churn in pleasure, your heart speed and your cheeks warm. It’s something different. Perhaps the first time you look at his eyes like this in three years of knowing him.

“Alright,” He finally says. “My hobbies include watching TV, cooking and martial arts.”

A frown grows between your brows as you look at him surprised. “Cooking? I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, well, I decided to give it a try last month.” He shrugs and waits for the waiter to serve their drink before continuing talking. “I keep burning water, I don’t know why I even try.”

A laugh escapes your lips. A genuine laugh. “That bad, huh?” You take a sip of the wine as you watch him nod. “You just practice. I can teach you some recipes if you want. My mom tells me I’m an excellent cook.”

“Yeah, maybe you should.” He gives you that look again and you clear your throat, playing with the stem of your glass of wine. Marcus’ fingers slowly approach yours, barely grazing at your skin before pulling away at the sound of the waiter’s voice asking if you were ready to order.

Marcus orders the special stake and you the mushroom cream soup. The food is good, tasty, but you really wished you could have something simpler. You didn’t mind, as long as you’re with him. The night goes by with laughter, talk about your personal lives and stolen looks from each other. By dessert, you both were buzzed off by the alcohol and kept laughing at everything.

“Wait, you threw up on her?” You ask, a wide smile on your face as Marcus tells you a story about his very first date, where he got too drunk and everything went wrong.

“On her shoes!” He replies, burying his face on his hands.

“Oh my god!” You put a hand on your mouth to muffle a laugh.

“I was seventeen, okay?” He argues, laughing too.

Wiping a tear from the corner of your eyes, you sigh, feeling your face warm. You both fall into a comfortable silence as Marcus reaches for your hands on the table. Your fingers touch his and you feel the warmth of his body sending shivers down your spine. You realize you want to hold his hand forever, the feeling of his rough palm on yours is comforting to you.

“I’m having a great time.” He confesses, a closed-lipped smile on his face. An involuntary smile curves your lips too, letting the feeling take over you.

“Me too.” Your voice is small, shy. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.” He agrees and fall in silence again.

Suddenly, an urge to tell him how you feel hits you. It may be the alcohol, but you can’t shake off the thoughts of confessing your feelings to him from your mind. You shouldn’t do it, not even your drunk self knows it. But the pain of yearning for a man, a good man, and not being reciprocated hits you and you don’t like the feeling.

“It’s getting late.” You whisper instead and he nods, asking for the check. He insists on paying, despite your protests.

The cab ride back to the hotel is silent and he’s not touching you anymore, but you wished he was. You wished he reached out for your hand, laced them together and pressed his lips on your skin. You wished this night never ended, you wished you would never let him go. The buzz of the alcohol is already faded when you both arrive at your hotel room, pulling the keycard from your wallet. Marcus walks with you and you look at him, smiling.

“So that was fun,” You say, biting your bottom lip.

“It was.” He smiles back. “We should do it again some time.”

Your heart skips a beat at small offer and all you can do is nod and smile. God, you really want to kiss him. You really want to kiss that stupid face, wipe off that stupid grin and pull him to your room. Licking your lips, your eyes set on his and he seems to notice because he licks his own lips, making your breath hitch.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” He says, looking right into your eyes.

And you should say no. You should draw the line, tell him you work together and that would be inappropriate. But instead you say,

“Okay.”

And then his lips gently press into yours as you close your eyes. The air escapes from your lungs as you reach for his neck, pulling him closer, his own hands cup your cheeks, kissing you tenderly. It feels amazing. The sensations his lips give you are beyond your imagination. As you open your mouth, allowing him you slip his tongue in, you sigh, deepening the kiss and tugging at his hair.

Then, you sober up. You pull away too quickly and wide your eyes, the blood draining from your face and your throat closing at the realization you just kissed your fucking boss.

“Shit,” You mumble, backing up. Marcus calls your name softly.

“It’s okay–”

“No.” You interrupt him. “You’re my boss, we work together.” You exhale sharply. “We can’t.”

“Sweetheart–”

“Don’t.” You raise a finger to him. “Please– Just don’t.”

Fumbling with the keycard you enter your room without giving him a chance to speak. The place it’s still a mess from your private fashion show, but you don’t care. Tears spill from your eyes as you remove your shoes and your clothes, not bothering to putting on pajamas or organizing the room before burying yourself under the covers.

Well, now, you’re really fucked.

_

tags: @madadlorian​ @xo-dragonette-xo​ @rosetophighlander​ @adikaofmandalore​ @pedropascalito​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @burningsoulbloodyheart​ 

let me know if you want to be tagged in part ii!

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #myfic #the mentalist #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfic

[kbstories]

impression//expression

“It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.”

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, Protective Baku, Soft Baku, Stargazing

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Minor content warning for (discussions of) self-esteem issues. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

“Bakugou.”

With an absent hum, Bakugou turns the page, squints, scribbles down a line in his neat, tight handwriting. A piece of black fabric separates his hand from the paper, the same wrapped around his pen, too.

Kirishima leans forward, over his own book-and-notepad combination dotted with scrawled comments and colorful post-it notes. It’s been an hour since any of it has made sense to him.

“Bakuuu. C’mon.”

A sigh, annoyed. Another line is added. Then: “The fuck d’you want?”

It takes a few seconds until the silence has stretched enough for Bakugou to look up and into Kirishima’s pleading eyes. Bakugou’s expression barely changes beyond a raised brow, unimpressed. It’s the one reserved for when Kirishima’s being especially dense – slightly more severe than muttered curses and slightly less so than that God-help-me roll of his eyes he premiered during their last study session.

Which was yesterday. Kirishima would be proud of unlocking a new Angry Bakugou Face in record time… if U.A.’s grumpiest genius wasn’t the only thing standing between him and a frankly impressive row of failed grades.

Final’s Week is brutal, even for heroes-in-training. Especially for heroes-in-training. So: Desperate times, desperate measures.

“Slap me”, Kirishima tells Bakugou, hushed in their corner of the library. “As hard as you possibly can.”

The arch of Bakugou’s brow climbs higher, utterly devastating in its wordless criticism. He says, “What”, tone Aizawa-levels of flat, and it’s not a question. It’s a command: Explain or else.

Kirishima is in no state to resist. The confession bubbles out of him in a whiny rush.

“Dude, I slept like… zero hours last night ‘cause Kami got Pokémon Colosseum – y’know, the reboot? So cool – and we kinda lost track of time. I know, I know, it was a stupid idea, I swear it was an honest mistake!”

Bakugou continues to stare as he puts down his pen and wipes his palms on the edge of his shirt. Kirishima ducks his head, hiding behind the limp strands of his hair.

“Don’t look at me like that, man. I’m seriously about two minutes from passing out here and there’s like a hundred pages of this thing I haven’t read yet, let alone understood, and oh shit Mic will hand me my ass with words tomorr–”

It all happens so quickly: Kirishima catches a blur of motion headed his way and squeaks; his skin hardens about half-way before there’s sparks and his cheek smarts, and a hissed “Motherfucker” sounds right in front of him.

The sharp slap! noise registers only after the fact, when Kirishima holds his face and Bakugou holds his hand and they both stare at each other in mutual bafflement as their skin turns red with the impact.

That moment is like glue, clear and sticky as it extends past its natural limit – then Bakugou snorts and starts to laugh, a cackling hyena-laugh that Kirishima’s never heard in full and certainly not like this, loud and unrestrained, and all hopes of holding back his own laughter is lost as he cracks up, too.

They laugh and laugh, until Kirishima’s stomach starts to cramp up and there’s the sheen of tears in Bakugou’s eyes. “Your f-fucking face”, Bakugou wheezes at some point. “Fucking bastard, you almost broke my hand! With your fucking face!”

All it does is send them into another round of hysterics.

At some point, Kirishima glimpses some of their classmates poke their head around the bookshelves secluding their study corner from the rest of the library, faces ranging from exasperated to deeply disturbed. There’s Ashido, giggling at the sight of both of them bent over and struggling to get some sort of grip, and Kaminari, who just mumbles “What the hell, guys” while straddling the line between sleep-deprived and intensely fascinated by what he’s seeing.

And hey, at least Kirishima’s really freaking awake now. There’s the problem of trying and failing to breathe without dying, his face helplessly flushed and sweating, but the world’s colors are back to being bright and sharp. Across from him, Bakugou isn’t faring much better, shaking his head and the back of his hand covering the broad smile he can’t seem to get rid of.

“Fuck you, you stupid, moronic idiot. For fuck’s sake, Kirishima.”

Kirishima rubs at his chest, the ache in his lungs starting to lessen now that he’s marginally back in control. “I’m so sorry but like”, he waves at himself and he can’t help his grin despite the stinging protest coming from his cheek. “Thanks, dude!”

“Eat a dick.” There’s no bite whatsoever in Bakugou’s grumbling as he sits back down and digs his nose into his book once more, thoroughly ignoring their flabbergasted audience.

After a moment of pantomiming what amounts to I’ll tell you later to their friends, Kirishima joins him, ready to tackle the final boss that is the English language.

*

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥 )

yo nitro (sent 17:48)

where u at? (sent 17:48)

-

why (received 17:52)

-

why what 🤔 (sent 17:53)

OH uh to hang out? (sent 17:55)

dw dude it’s just me (sent 17:55)

-

[location] (received 18:10)

-

bakugou katsuki what are you doing in the middle of the woods??? (sending…)

NO WAY (sending…)

signal’s gone AGAIN i’m going feral (sending…)

screw it (sending…)

*

The GPS signal craps out twice more before Kirishima heaves himself onto the edge of a cliff and spots a familiar silhouette. Sheltered by a bend in the rock bed, the glow of a fire illuminates a backpack set aside, a pair of discarded hiking boots – and Bakugou, leaning against solid stone with his arms crossed behind his head.

“Took ya long enough”, he says, the lazy smirk on his lips cut in flickering shadows.

“Listen.” Kirishima wipes beads of perspiration off his temple; a spontaneous rock-climbing session by the last light of day is not what he had hoped for after hours of exhaustive quirk training. “We already have a perfectly good camp. There’s, like, leftover curry and hot springs and stuff down there.”

Bakugou scoffs. “Yeah. And a bunch of extras.”

There’s an exasperated reply on his tongue – They’re called classmates, genius. Y’know, friends? – but Kirishima knows it’s pointless to even start that debate. He snipes him with his sweaty headband instead, celebrating his own marksmanship when it hits Bakugou square in the chest with a wet thwap.

“Wha– Shitty Hair!”

“You made me climb this stupid cliff in the middle of the night. Deal with it.”

Bakugou just throws it back, the force of an explosion propelling the thing past Kirishima’s shoulder and off the mountain entirely. Kirishima watches singed white fabric disappear into the abyss, bidding it goodbye with a somber salute.

“Well, that’s lame.”

“You’re lame, fuckface.”

“Bro.”

Shaking his head, Kirishima laughs and joins him by the fire.

It’s quiet for a bit while he gets comfy and Bakugou throws a chunk of wood into the flames, sparks bursting into life immediately. This far up, the air feels… brittle, in a way, thin and cold enough Kirishima wouldn’t have been surprised to see his breath mist. The breeze ruffles the crowns of the trees around them, the rush of rustling leaves in the distance strangely soothing.

Bakugou’s gaze is lost in the night sky when he starts to speak. “Been thinking of borrowing my parents’ car and driving out here by myself. Y’know, once I got my license and shit. ‘s got some good trails, people were talking ‘bout it on those shitty hiking forums. Forums, like we’re in the fucking 2000s.”

His elbows on his knees and his head propped on his hands, Kirishima hums and looks up as well. The moon is a thin island of white in an ocean of indigo blue growing steadily darker, a myriad of stars coming out to keep her company. “Yeah?”

“Mh”, Bakugou makes around a soft breath. “Guess they’re all shit out of luck though ‘cause it’s the personal playground of pro heroes, apparently. It’s a miracle none of our idiots got fucking lost coming out here.”

‘Our idiots’, huh? Kirishima nudges his chin lower and into his palms to hide his smile. “Kinda far of a trip to make just for some hiking, isn’t it?”

A casual shrug, followed by a nod upwards. “Not for this. The lodge is the only structure for miles in any direction and even with us here, it’s got fuck all on an entire city. Get it?”

“Yeah! No light pollution, right?”

“Yup”, Bakugou confirms, popping the ‘p’. A small grin is shot Kirishima’s way, teasing rather than mocking. “What’s this, huh? Don’t tell me you paid attention in fucking physics after all.”

Kirishima breathes an offended huff, mock-hurt.

“Pshh, please. Y’know how everyone has that one niche thing they randomly obsessed over as a kid? That was me with astronomy. Back in Middle School I had like, a huge model of all the planets in my room and my favorite constellations mapped across the ceiling with those glow-in-the-dark stars. Years of useless knowledge, all stored right here.”

Kirishima’s thumb taps his forehead as he smiles at Bakugou; Bakugou’s lips pull into a smile of his own, small but there. When he turns back to the stars, Kirishima does the same, sighing wistfully.

“If Thirteen’s class were just about that I’d freaking ace it, dude. I get that I’m kinda dumb with literally anything else, but space is my jam. Did you know that–”

“You’re not.”

The train of thought Kirishima was about to gleefully jump onto screeches to a halt. “…huh?”

Bakugou frowns at him. “You’re not”, a vague wave in his general direction, “stupid or whatever.”

Perhaps the dumbfounded blinking Kirishima’s doing in response is already enough to prove Bakugou wrong on that. Still, Kirishima sits up a bit straighter, eyebrows pulling together tightly.

“Um. I appreciate you saying that, bro, but I’m only here ‘cause Aizawa decided to get in touch with his merciful side after all. Like, Cementoss totally wiped the floor with me back home. There’s no point in lying to myself about that.”

“So you’re calling me a fucking liar, is that it?”

“Huh?”

Kirishima can only watch as Bakugou’s mouth twists beyond the usual doom and gloom and into something… frustrated. Genuinely annoyed. An iron weight settles in Kirishima’s gut, heavy and hard to ignore. “I didn’t– Look, man, can we not fight over this? I’m just saying I wanna face my mistakes and do better, that’s all.”

“Then say it!”

There’s a severity to the words that catches Kirishima off guard. Bakugou is staring him down with eyes so intense they possess their own gravitational pull, closer to black than crimson in the fire’s light–

Kirishima likes to think he knows Bakugou, at least a little. What makes him tick, what makes him angry – because there is a reason and a rhyme to his anger, a pattern to the things that set him off that Kirishima has yet to properly figure out. It’s just that Kirishima isn’t usually one of those things, not anymore.

“You lost me, Baku”, he admits, quietly, after a beat or two of tense silence. “What do you mean?”

Bakugou sighs, a harsh noise between them. The deep breath afterwards is new, however, a sharp inhale followed by a calmer exhale before Bakugou points at him, a wordless listen up.

“Just– Okay. You fucked up and wanna learn from it? Cool, fucking say that then. Not some bullshit about being too dumb to do shit ‘cause you’re not. Fuck right off with that.”

Mouth opening, Kirishima is stopped by a flurry of firecracker sparks and a terse growl of “Shut the hell up, I’m not done.” Finally, Bakugou’s look snaps elsewhere, one sock-clad foot kicking at a loose rock in clear irritation.

“Studying isn’t your strength, who gives a fuck? You got into U.A. top-fucking-two, you’re one of the only capable fuckers around and if you seriously think you don’t deserve to be here because Cementoss got lucky one fucking time then you got another thing coming.”

Kirishima sits there in a state of mild shock until Bakugou huffs and glares at him again. The threat behind it is ridiculously empty considering the impromptu speech he just gave and holy shit, Bakugou Katsuki is praising him. Kirishima Eijirou.

He might actually cry.

“What? You’re competition, bitch, so don’t make me a fucking liar by pretending otherwise.”

Scratch that, tears are definitely part of the picture now.

Wet-rimmed eyes and a quiet sniff, that’s as far as Kirishima gets before Bakugou’s expression suddenly falls, crestfallen to an almost comical degree. Kirishima does laugh then, a watery little chuckle that doesn’t seem to make things much better, either.

“Sorry, just… Damn Nitro, I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. You really think so?”

And okay, yup, that’s a real glare, this time. Bakugou throws up his hands. “You’re so– Urgh. Did I fucking stutter?”

Kirishima rubs the moisture out of his eyes and smiles. “Nope.” Faint embarrassment heats his cheeks; he focuses on the warmth curling in his chest instead, glowing bright and comforting like the embers at their feet and the stars above.

“Good”, Bakugou mutters.

More wood is tossed into the fire and rekindled with red-hot palms. Scooting closer, Kirishima holds out his hands and hums happily as it chases away the ever-cooling temperatures. They can’t stay up here forever – Aizawa will have his hide for sure if he doesn’t show up to the remedial course tonight – yet Kirishima figures they have a few more minutes.

Bakugou goes right back to his earlier sprawl, unaffected by the cold: arms crossed, eyes on the sky like he can’t get enough of the sight. Kirishima thinks of glow-in-the-dark stickers, faded over time. Quietly, he wonders which constellation is Bakugou’s favorite.

“Kiri.”

“Hm? Yeah?”

Shoulders relaxed, voice even, Bakugou says: “Tell me something. About space, I mean.”

As complicated as being friends with Bakugou can get, it can be so, so easy, too. Just a while longer, Kirishima decides as he settles in next to his best friend and starts talking.

>>Chapter 4

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #kiribaku #bnha fanfiction #pre-kamino softness coming right up! #i'm just weak for these two interacting that's all #this fic is also on AO3!! #my stuff

[defenderrosetyler]

Mark of Cain

Fic based off of : @spn-imagines-nation​ https://spn-imagines-nation.tumblr.com/post/614758642152062976/dean-wait 

Pairing: Dean x Y/N

Summary: Dean is finally clear of the Mark of Cain, he feels he has disappointed Y/N by all the death he's caused, and possibly their relationship. 

Warnings: Angst, death mentions, blood, smut. 

A/n: my amazing betas, @winchester-fantasies and @deanwanddamons. I cannot thank you enough for what you've done in helping me as well as @impala-1979​

A/N: YOU MUST BE OVER THE AGE OF 18 TO READ THIS. THERE WILL BE SMUT!! Oh, and always remember rubbers ;) 

Dean’s POV

The Mark was gone. Abbadon herself was gone, and I no longer wore the red Mark of Cain on my right forearm. Y/N was a dear friend to both Sam and I; well, maybe more to me. I wasn't sure of my feelings one hundred percent yet. Feelings were a tough subject for me. She always supported, comforted, and just cared about my well being and overall health. If I'm being brutally honest, she was overdoing it, but….

Y/N and I had met just over two years ago when I was working on a case. Sammy had recently fallen into the pit, and I needed to get away from Lisa and Ben for a while. I needed to get back to what I always loved - even if it was without my brother. There was shifter activity in the area and once I finally found the bastard, it had been trying to kill Y/N. Her and her family actually; why, I don’t know. I guess I’ll never know. I never even wanted to ask because whatever that shifter did, it hurt her emotionally for six months. Shifters - those were mean sons of bitches. However, when I wore the Mark of Cain, I had done terrible things. When I had worn the Mark of Cain, I’d done terrible things, too. I regretted all of them, even if there wasn’t a way to take them all back.

Managing to find my way into my bedroom, I locked the door. I had been making it a harsh routine and had started doing it after Sammy, Y/N, and I returned to the bunker after a hunt. My leather bag and jacket landed on the floor with a thud. Y/N had called after me, and I could hear her pounding on the door. I had to remind myself my bedroom door was locked, and Y/N wasn’t getting in. Needing to distract myself, I found escape into the shower. The warmth of the water felt like a massage of hands running down my back, cascading down my face. Y/N was still trying to get in. What part of the locked bedroom - bedroom door being locked - wasn’t getting through to her?

Normal POV:

Y/N had gone to Sam after finding Dean’s bedroom door locked. Groaning as she paced around the kitchen, Sam offered her a sandwich, which she refused. “Sam, Dean clearly needs to talk about this! He can’t just act as if Mark didn’t affect him!” Y/N snapped. Sam looked over at her. 

“Y/N, you know how Dean is. Emotions aren’t his thing. Never have been, except when he’s drunk.” Sam offered her a bottle of Dean’s favorite beer, which coincidentally happened to be Y/N’s, too. Grabbing the pin from her hair, she began to pick the lock, one thing Y/N was talented at. 

Hearing their struggles, and just about as Y/N had gotten it, the door swung open and Y/N stood. Y/C/E eyes met the emerald ones of Dean Winchester. Offering the bottle, Y/N gave a small shrug. “Drink with me?”  

Y/N looked defeated as he’d opened the door. Y/N nodded as Dean nodded, accepting the beverage. Before she could give it to him, she glared at him. “Only if you tell me why the hell you’ve been ignoring me!”

This pissed Dean off. He snatched the bottle from her and used his dresser to break off the cap. “You damned well know why! Y/N, I did a ton of bad shit I regret while I had that damn thing on my arm. Yes, I needed to accept it-“ he’d started rambling but she stopped him by doing something she had never done before and she regretted it the moment she did. She slapped Dean Winchester. 

Then she kissed him. 

Kissing Dean like this was not what she’d had in mind. Dean's lips were soft against hers and it surprised her when his lips molded to hers. It was as if he’d been wanting this to happen - like this was his intent all along. A small moan slipped past her lips. Dean’s calloused fingers traced the bottom of Y/N’s shirt. Y/N’s stomach muscles contracted against his touch. 

“Y/N,” Dean whispered, pulling back, breathing heavily. Emerald eyes met Y/E/C ones, Dean’s thumb brushing against her bottom lip, which caused her to bite down on the flesh of where Dean’s fingers had just been. “Don’t ever do that again,” he scolded, as he began to lift her shirt, the fabric tossed aside once no struggle was given for its removal. Both of their breathing was heavy. Hands were slowly working on removing their clothing. Y/N allowed her hands to run up and down his chest. The muscular abs she’d always dreamed about, the ones she always fantasized over. 

“Dean,” she whispered, feeling his kisses move from her lips, to her jaw, then to her now exposed collar bone. All she could think about was how she had fantasized about this very event happening-more than once, too- as Dean brought her hand to the silky front of his boxer shorts. The hardened erection she felt there was now threatening to poke through the fabric. She could feel that he was hard and no doubt aching, and just from that one touch, Y/N knew that Dean Winchester was most definitely the man she’d dreamt about. Dean’s green eyes searched hers, begging for her to submit to him. 

“You are mine, Y/N,” Dean said, voice gruff and his green eyes full of lust and desire. “Mine,” he said again. As Y/N looked at him, she couldn’t help the desire to back away from him and sit on the edge of the bed. She readily spread her legs for him to see her, to see how aroused he’d made her, how wet she could be from him. 

Y/N slowly removed the remainder of the clothing she’d been wearing, leaving her body bare for Dean to see and enjoy as he knelt between her legs. He planted soft kisses on each thigh, alternating between her left and her right. 

“Dean,” the woman gasped, her hands moving to thread through his brown locks, tugging ever so gently. She wanted to at least try to show him how much she’d needed this - no, how much she needed him. 

“All in good time baby; just relax,” he said, trying to calm her down.  He could tell she was anxious, but she still wanted to know what was going on. She wanted him inside her. She'd always wanted Dean, she was just too shy to admit it. As Dean’s mouth reached her soaked cunt, he couldn’t help but groan against its flesh. Holy fuck, she was wetter than he’d ever thought she could be for him. As his mouth worked her, Y/N’s moans and gasps filled the room. His thick fingers soon filled her, making her moan louder for him, nearly letting her orgasm wash over her just by that simple action alone. 

“Dean, please, don’t tease me. We’ve had enough sexual tension between us…I just need you,” she begged, and the elder Winchester looked up at her. His emerald eyes shimmered as he removed his fingers from her core, intending to give her everything she wanted: Him.

He stepped back and dropped his silk boxers, the aching erection confined within freed from the constricting cloth. Aligning his heavy cock at her entrance, he slowly eased himself inside her. She gripped his arms firmly as her moans filled the room, gasping out his name in a desperate cry as he filled her, Dean bottoming out once he was fully sheathed inside her. 

“You know, you’re hot now, but you were even hotter when you had the Mark,” she told him and Dean looked at her as his eyes darkened with lust. 

“You want me to be rough, baby girl? You want me to be hard on you, sweetheart?” he asked, looking at her. He wasn’t going to be giving her the chance to get used to him. He was going to be as rough and hard as if he still bore the Mark and didn’t have a care in the world. 

Y/N cried out loudly as he pounded into her and whimpered as he brought her closer and closer to her orgasm. She squeezed his shoulders tightly, her nails digging into his skin and her back arching up into him as she gave a shattering cry. Dean wasn't far behind. At the quick pace he'd been moving, he soon filled her all the way so that once he pulled out of her sore and aching folds that she was leaking for him. 

“Dean...part of me wishes you never got rid of the Mark. You're a lot hotter like that,” Y/N whispered; she felt positively exhausted. Within seconds, she fell into a deeper sleep than usual. 

Dean wondered if getting rid of the Mark was a good idea…after all, he felt stronger at that particular moment in time. Little did he know that maybe him being a demon would be an even bigger turn on. 

COMMENTS ARE WELCOME!!

TAGS”

@simsadventures​ @fofisstikinski @mummybear​ @impala-dreamer​ @holylulusworld​ @snffbeebee​ @saxxxology @akshi8278​ ​ @deansmyapplepie   @luci-in-trenchcoats​ @samskia-writes​ @winchester-fantasies​ @talesmaniac89​ @stusbunker​ @idreamofplaid​ @bi-danvers0​ @cherrypiebbyblog​ @cleighwrites​ @impala-1979​ @jxackles​

#defenderrosetyler #dean winchester imagine #deanxreader #supernatural #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #MOC!Dean #mark of cain

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary -Chapter 35

Warnings: none

Tagging:  @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @thorsbathroomchicken, @innerpaperexpertcloud,  @valkyrie-of-the-light

Don’t read this before Chapter 34 (posted yesterday) or this one will make absolutely zero sense lol

He sits on the edge of the tub; elbows on his knees and his left palm pressed to his forehead.  Still clad in the same soiled; fabric damp and stained with a mixture of blood, sweat, mud, and grass stains.  Right arm held across his chest, secured in a makeshift sling that had been created out of torn up old t-shirt.   He aches; scalding, nearly unbearable pain that begins in the socket of the shoulder and spreads all the way down to his fingertips.  A pounding, nauseating headache.  Sore back and ribs; unable to draw in even the smallest of breaths without experiencing some kind of agony.   His eyes are closed; the bathroom light even too much for his aching head to bare, and doesn’t even look up to acknowledge the soft creak of the door as it is pulled open.  It’s quiet out in the main quarters of the suite, no Yaz or Mark and the incessant chatter of the latter.  Curtains drawn tight, no even a sliver of sunlight making it into the room.  She’s handled this before: the post concussion suffering.  

“Get your dirty fingers away from your head,” she gently scolds as she stands in front of him, her fingers curling around his wrist and pulling his hand away.   “The stitches are still fresh. It’s going to get infected. And you have enough problems right now.”

Her voice sounds…sad.  And he hates that.  He hates that he’s the one that has caused this.  That she’s not only had to see him messed up, but that she has to be the one that renders care and aid.  It’s a recurring theme over the past four years since he’d gotten back into the job; returning home with various injuries,  having to rely on her to continue with the bandaging and the wound care,  having to be completely vulnerable in front of her.  The latter shouldn’t even be an issue anymore; after five and a half years, he would think he’d be perfectly comfortable with letting his guard down in front of her.  You share a lot in that span of time; deepest and darkest secrets, brutally honest confessions, mind blowing intimacy. Yet a part of him still holds back.  He still can’t seem to give a hundred percent of himself. Worried that his burdens and his suffering will be just too much for her to shoulder.

He feels her hands on his face; palms on his cheeks, and he keeps his eyes closed and allows her to gently turn his head up towards her.  Fingertips tenderly inspecting the various wounds; carefully pushing hair out of the way to check the laceration that runs from the top of his forehead and back into his scalp.  Softly pressing at the beginnings of a wicked black eyes, travelling over his nose. It’s not the first time he’s busted it. And it probably won’t be the last.  Her touch comforts him; it’s soothing and loving. And he doesn’t feel as if he deserves either.

“Tyler…” she sighs heavily.  “…what the hell happened?”

“That’s not important.”

“It’s important to me. You shouldn’t have been alone. If I’d stayed…”

“If you’d stayed, things would have been a hundred times worse.  I sent you away for a reason. Don’t question it, okay?”

“Like you sent me away with Saju and Ovi?”

“That’s not the same thing and you know it.”

His hands find her hips, resting gently upon them. And when he feels the brush of her lips against his forehead, his palms slide around to the small of her back and he draws her in towards him, head falling forward to rest against her chest. Her palms still on the side of his face, thumbs rubbing against his beard, then moving a bit higher to brush against the middle of his ears.  His never had hands like hers on him before; whether it be providing comfort and care or driving him absolutely insane with lust and need. Her touch is familiar but welcoming.  Still able to make his stomach flutter and his knees weak even after five and a half years.

“I’m sorry,” his voice is muffled against her body.  “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Her hands move further back, nails lightly scraping against the shortest parts of his hair, then slowly moving upwards; until her fingers are pushing through the longest strands and loosely gripping.  “For what?” she asks. There’s no judgment in her tone; no condemnation.  And he doesn’t deserve that, her understanding, her patience. Her love.

“This. This whole fucking mess. For even getting you involved in it. I never should have called you that day. Asking you for help.”

“Would you rather it have been me coming here or a complete stranger?”

“You. But that’s not the point. I never should have gotten you involved in this.”

“I was already involved. The second you decided to do this.  It doesn’t matter if I’m thousands of miles away from you, we’re still a team.  I support you no matter what, even when we’re not on the same side of the world.”

Her hands drift down the back of his neck, eventually falling on his shoulders. Fingers and thumbs cautiously digging into the tight, painful muscles.  

“You should have just said no. When I called you. You should have just told me to ‘fuck off’ and stayed with the kids. They need you. They need their mom.”

“They need their dad too. I didn’t make those kids by myself, you know.”

“You’re the one that did all the work. You’re the one that carried them inside of you. Kept them alive. You’re the one that spends all the time with them when I’m gone.  They’d miss you a hell of a lot more than they’d miss me.”

“Now you’re just talking shit. Stop doing that. Stop downplaying the role that you have in their lives. The impact that you have. They adore you.  They idolize you. You’re their daddy.  Your role didn’t just stop the second you came inside of me. So stop. Please.  Stop talking like this.”

“You shouldn’t have to be there. You shouldn’t have to see this. See me…like this.”

“I’ve seen you in a lot worse shape,” she reminds him.   “A hell of a lot.  Of all the people you shouldn’t be uncomfortable around, I’m at the top of the list.  I’m your wife, Tyler.”

“Yes,” he smiles against her.  “You are.”

“So then quit your bullshit and let me take care of you. You’d do the same thing for me.”

“I’m the guy. I’m supposed to take care of you.”

“That’s not how this works. This isn’t a one-sided thing. So quit being so stubborn and just let me take care of you. Let me love you. Can you do that? I need you to do that.”

He nods, and she runs her thumb and forefingers along the edges of his ears, tugging gently when she reaches the lobes, urging him to look up at him.  The light over head is blinding and agonizing to his tortured head, and he regards her through narrow, tortured eyes.  

She smiles. It’s small. Soft. Reassuring. And she leans down to press feathery kisses over every inch of his face. Not caring about the dried blood or the dirt, lips travelling across his forehead, over his eyes and down his nose, onto both cheeks and then eventually his lips. A soft, long, sweet kiss that nearly takes his breath away.

“I don’t deserve this,” he says. “You. I don’t deserve you.”

“Stop being so hard on yourself, Tyler. I’m used to this, remember? How you live. This is your life.”

“No. You’re my life. Not this.”

“It’s okay,” she assures him.  “If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now.  I wouldn’t have stuck around for five and a half years. I never would have called you that night when we were separated and asked you to come home.  This is who we are, Tyler. This is what we are.”

“That’s not how it was supposed to be. When we got married. This wasn’t supposed to be part of it.”

“Well, it is,” she says with a sad smile.  “Until you’ve finally gotten it out of your system and you’ve had enough of this life. I’ll be waiting. For when you’re ready to finally walk away.”

“And what if I never do? What if I’m never ready? What if I never walk away?”

“Then we stick together and deal with that too. You’re not in this alone. And I won’t you to stop feeling guilty for bringing me into this.  You’ve been holding onto that for five and a half years now. All that guilt. For what I saw in Dhaka and for staying with you in Australia.  It’s time to let that go. Because it’s weighing you down. It’s weighing us down.  I don’t hate you. I don’t resent you. I just love you. That’s it.”

He smiles, tears sparkling in his eyes.

“You need to stop being so hard on yourself all the time,” she presses a kiss to his lips. “If you could just see yourself the way I see you. You’re not broken. You’re not damaged. You’re a human being who has flaws and weaknesses just like the rest of us. I don’t think I could love you if you didn’t. Because it’s all those imperfections that make you, you.  That made me fall in love with. That makes me love you more and more every day. I need you to stop doing this to yourself. For torturing yourself like this. Because I love you. And there’s no one else in the world I want to be with.”

He briefly tucks his lower lip between his teeth, then reaches up with his good hand, placing it on the back of her neck and pulling her down into a kiss.   Nothing passionate or needy about it. Just a languid, tender kiss that he knows she’ll feel for days.  

“Now come on,” she motions for him to stand up.  “We need to get you cleaned up. You’re a mess,” she places a hand under his good arm, encouraging him to stand.  “Are you dizzy? You’re not going to fall over on me, are you?”

“Not dizzy,” he confirms.  “I’m fine.”

“Well try and give me some kind of warning if you’re going to faint. Because I need to get out of the way or you’re going to crush me.”

“I’m not that big,” he grins.  “I’m not that heavy.”

“You’re more than a foot taller than me and you have about ninety pounds on me. If not more. So yeah. You are that big and you are that heavy. Here…let me help,” she uses his good shoulder for support as she climbs onto the edge of the tub, standing behind him long enough to undo the knot holding the sling in place. “…careful…” she says as she once more stands in front of him, frowning at the pained expression on his face; the simple chore of removing the fabric even causing him agony.  “…is the doctor sure it was just dislocated?”

“That’s what he said. But without x rays, it’s hard to know for sure. Fuck…” he bites down on his bottom lips as pain shoots through his arm, having to support it; hand coming up to cradle his wrist, effectively keeping the shoulder in line.  Sweat beads across his forehead. His breathing is ragged.  Face a sickly gray colour.  

“Just breathe,” she says, and tosses the sling onto the countertop.  “Isn’t that what you always say to me?’

Tyler nods.

“Do you feel sick? Do you need to throw up?”

He shakes his head. “I’m okay.”

“If you need to puke, use this…” she dumps the trash from the small bin next to the toilet onto the floor. “…because you look like you might puke.  We have to get this off,” she tugs at the bottom of his t-shirt. “Maybe sit down. Because it’s going to hurt like hell and if you pass out, at least you don’t have far to fall.”

“I won’t pass out,” he argues, but still takes a seat on the edge of the top.

“You nearly passed out watching Millie be born,” she reminds him.

“That’s different. That was…gross.”

“Weird how you don’t get violently ill or you don’t pass out impaling someone’s face with the end of a rake, but seeing your own child brought into the world almost brings you to your knees,” she teases, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.   “Don’t even try and use your right arm. Pretend it doesn’t even exist. Just use your left and I’ll help, okay?”

He nods, eyes closing, his good hand assisting her with lifting the t-shirt up and over his head.  A string of profanities escaping his lips when he’s forced to raise both arms over his head to finally get it off the entire way.

“Good?” she inquires, as she tosses the piece of fabric into the corner. “Are you good?”

“Yeah…” his breathing is laboured, the sweat on his brow and at his temples more prominent now. “…I’m good.”

“Drop your pants,” she instructs, and even in his pained filled state, he can’t help but smirk.

“Normally that would turn me on hearing you say that, but…”  he’s grimacing as he gets to his feet once more.  

“I’ll forgive you…just this once…for not pitching a tent at my expense,” she helps with his belt buckle, button and zipper and then moves to start setting up the water for the shower.  “Don’t pass out,” she warns, as she adjusts the cold and hot water.  “You want it artic cold or hell fire hot?”

“Somewhere in between, I guess,” he’s able to his jeans and boxer briefs down with one hand, then resorts to kicking them off his legs and using his toes to push his socks off. “And I already said I’m not going to pass out. I’m fine.”

“You’re far from fine,” she argues, and when satisfied with the temperature of the water, begins peeling off her own clothes.

“What are you doing?”

“The easiest way to help you is to get in there with you. Am I supposed to leave my clothes on? Don’t worry, Tyler. I won’t take advantage of you in your weakened condition.  It’s not like we’ve never seen each other naked before. Are you suddenly shy?”

“No. I just…I don’t know…I’m…like this…hurt….”

“Listen, I was with you in a hospital when you still had to use a catheter to take a piss.  I’ve had to help you to and from the bathroom on many occasions when you were finally released and were at home recovering.  I’m capable of seeing your dick without getting turned on, alright?”

“Maybe I want you to get turned on. That can’t exactly happen when I look like this. Blood. Dirt.”

“Baby, you’re insanely attracted regardless of what you’re covered in.  As sick and twisted as that sounds.  How does your mind always go there? Into the gutter? Especially when you’re like this. You’d think it would be the last thing on your mind.”

“I’m a red-blooded male. If my mind doesn’t go there, it means I don’t have a pulse.”

“You’re impossible,” she huffs, and then draws back the shower curtain and steps into the bed. “Well…come on…” she offers her hand.  

He grins. “You gonna scrub my back.”

“Maybe,” she says with a wink. “And maybe some other things too.”

****

“Yaz says there was a problem with comms,” Nik says, as she and Esme chat via FaceTime. “That why he wasn’t able to warn you guys that someone was coming.”

It’s five thirty in the afternoon; curtains still drawn across the windows, late afternoon sun refused entrance.  She sits in bed with her back resting against the headboard, laptop perched upon the tops of her thighs.  The television on but the volume on mute; every so often glancing up to check the headlines that run along the bottom of the screen.  Two empty room service plates and the accompanying cutlery on the nightstand next to her side of the bed, along with various bottles of prescription meds that Yaz had picked up earlier, and two bottles of water.  Tyler sleeps soundly beside her; on his stomach; his good arm tucked under his pillow; face turned towards her.  Snoring lightly, those impossibly long, dark eyelashes skimming the tops of his cheeks, a slight smile curving his lips.  Pain free, at least for now.

“Everything was working ten minutes before. I talked to him over the radio. I even sent pictures to his SAT.”

“He thinks someone jammed the signals. Once you go back outside.”

“Whoever was in the car?”

“That’s his best guest.   We have someone keeping an eye on the police system. As soon as they’re able to identify who these guys are…were…we will know.  They’re dead. All four of them. There was no one left alive.”

“Except for Tyler,” Esme points out.

“Yes. Except for Tyler. Thankfully.”

“How did they even know we were there? We were careful Nik. We watched our backs, kept an eye out for each other. There was no one following us and no one watching us. So how…”

“There may be some kind of surveillance at McMann’s house. Or even in the bunker. Maybe even some kind of alarm that was silently tripped when Tyler broke the lock on the storm cellar. Once it’s dark, I’ll send Yaz and Mark to get a look at things.  Just so you know, McMann is livid. That the two of you went there. He’s out for blood.”

“Well you tell him that I’m kind of livid too.  Tell him I’m just slightly pissed off that my husband could have been killed because of his twisted suck fuck of a wife.  Tell him that. And while you’re at it, tell him he’s more than welcome to come here and have the balls to say what he has to say to my face. Fuck him and his threats, Nik. And fuck him for ever getting Tyler involved in this.”

“I know you’re upset. I know…”

“This goes beyond being upset. I want to know how the hell his wife was orchestrating all of this right under his nose? Was this all some kind of set up? Did he know about? Is he in on it? We need answers, Nik. We deserve answers. We’ve been busting our asses to find those kids and we’re no further ahead now than we were then.”

“I know,” Nik sighs. “And I’m just as frustrated as you.”

“Are you? Because you seem pretty damn calm.  Why don’t you try getting some answers out of him? Because he isn’t giving us any. He’s been lying to Tyler right from the get-go. All he wanted was for Tyler to come in and start a war within the IRA and take the heat off of who is really behind his kids going missing. Well fuck that, Nik.  I’m not letting him…or you…use my husband as a pawn. Enough with the games. Do you realize how bad things could have ended today? What if Tyler hadn’t been able to fight them off? What if there’d been more? What if…?”

“Asking what if solves nothing and you know it. I’ll get answers from him. I want them just as bad as you do.”

“If I had my way, we’d be leaving on the next flight out of here. I’m sick of this, Nik. This life. I’m sick of Tyler doing all the dirty work. Of him being the one you always fall back on. Isn’t there someone else you can be obsessed with? Someone else from your past you can pine over?”

“Esme…” she sighs. “…that’s not what this is about.”

“When will you just let go? Of him? When we’re married ten years? Fifteen? Twenty? I’m not going anywhere, Nik.”

“This isn’t why I contacted you. To talk about this. To argue about this. I know you have a hard time accepting the fact that Tyler and I have history, but…”

“You were fucking him. Don’t romanticize it.”

“…but you need to get over it. He chose you.  He married you. You have kids together.  If you don’t realize how much he loves you by now…”

“This isn’t about Tyler, Nik. This is about you constantly testing boundaries. I thought we were friends. I thought I could trust you.”

“You can. We are friends.”

“So that’s why you’ve propositioned him? Twice?”

Silence.

“You honestly thought he wouldn’t tell me? We don’t keep secrets, Nik. Not even the ones that hurt like hell to confess them.  Can you not respect me and my children enough to just leave him alone? I don’t expect you to stop being friends with him.  I don’t expect him to stop working for you. But can you not stop trying to break up my family? His family? You’d think you’d be happy for him. You saw him at the lowest of lows. So you’d think you’d want him to have a normal life.”

“I am happy for him. And for you.”

“But not happy enough to not try and get him back in your bed?”

“Esme, I don’t know what you want me to say. I hate that this is becoming such an issue between us. I mean, it’s been there. The elephant in the room. We were doing so good. For five and a half years. We mended things, we became friends again, I’m the godmother for your twin boys.  But lately it’s gotten out of control. You’ve gotten out of control.  You’re jealous and possessive and…”

“I’m jealous and possessive because I don’t want my husband becoming someone’s side piece? Are you being serious right now?”

“It will never happen. He loves you too much. And he loves his kids. He’d never do anything that would risk losing his kids.”

“It’s not Tyler I worry about. It’s you. I want you to just let this go, Nik. I want you to let him go. We’re trying to have a marriage here. We’re trying to raise kids. And this tension you bring? It’s not good for any of us. Especially the kids.  I’m asking you…no, I’m begging you…to let go of this notion of you and him. I need you to do that. Can you at least try? Can you just see him as a friend and nothing else?”

“Of course I can.  You’re both my friends. And I am sorry.  That this is so hard for you. Knowing that there’s a past between Tyler and me. But you’re his present. And his future. That alone should cement things for you. He chose you. He could have told you to fuck off after Dhaka and leave him alone. And he didn’t. Do you know how happy he was? When he came out of the coma and he saw you there? Do you know what that did for him that you were the first person he laid eyes on? Esme, you saved him. In every way possible. You gave him a reason to keep on when he wanted to give up. There is no one…and I mean no one…that could ever love you in the way he does.”

She glances down at him as he sleeps; boyish and peaceful looking. His features softer.  No worries or fears or demons plaguing his mind. At least for now.  And she uses her forefinger to gently push his hair out of eyes; the swelling starting to subside under the left, the bruising started to show.

“How is he?” Nik asks.

“He’s resting. I’ve been waking him up every couple of hours, just to make sure he’s okay.  But he’s peaceful. Right now, at least.”

“Has he said anything to you? About what happened?”

“Not a word. Just that he had to do what he had to do.  He said there was four of them. And that he killed them. All of them.”

“Did he say how?”

“No.  I mean, he had the Glock on him, but I never heard any shots. And I would have heard those.  Whatever happened, whatever they did to him, he’s pretty messed up.”  She rattles of the list of injuries, and the names of the various medications that the doctor had prescribed him.  

“Well just keep an eye on him. Knowing Tyler, he’ll want to be back at things tomorrow. He needs a couple of days at least. I can have Yaz and Mark continue working on things in regard to tracking the kids down and getting more information out of McMann. Be careful, Esme. Like I said, McMann is out for blood now. Tyler’s blood. And if he has to, he’ll go through you to get it.  Stay safe and locked up in that room if you have to. Tell Tyler the same thing.”

“I will. We’ll be careful, Nik. I promise.”

“Did he tell you anything about the girl he found?”

“No. And I don’t think he wants to.”

“Probably for good reason. Tell him we’ll talk tomorrow, and he can fill me in then. In the meantime, just take care of him. And each other.”

****

She feels him stir against her when she leans over to place the laptop on the floor; a thick, muscular thigh rubbing against hers, followed by the faint rustle of sheets as he changes positions in the bed.  And when she looks over her shoulders, he’s flat on his back; brow furrowed, a frown as his face, as if he can’t remember where he is, or he got there. The traffic jam, as he calls. So many thoughts and memories jammed up there, all competing against each other for his attention.

“Hey,” she greets. “Look who’s awake.”

He presses his palms into his eyes in an attempt to clear some of the cobwebs, grimacing at the pain that kicks off in his right shoulder.  

“You okay?” she asks, as she places a hand on his stomach and leans over him, pressing a kiss to his lips.  “Did you sleep alright?”

“Yeah…I think so…. what time is it?”

“Just a little after six. PM.”

“What?” those frowns in his forehead deepen, his frown becomes larger.  “Six PM? What the hell…” he attempts to sit up using both of his elbows, then lets out a loud ‘fuck’ and collapses onto his back, clutching his right shoulder.

“Jesus, Tyler,” she sighs. “Can you not hurt yourself even more?”

“I forgot…about the shoulder…” he speaks through gritted teeth. “…shit…fuck…”

“Here…” she places an arm behind his back, and with the aide of his left elbow is able to get him into a sit.  “…that okay?”

“Yeah…” he nods. Sweat glistens on his forehead, his breathing his ragged.  His body very much feeling the damage that had been done to his body earlier, and the side effects of the medication he’d taken before drifting off.  “I’ve been asleep? All that time?”

She nods. “I’ve been waking up every couple of hours. Just to be on the safe side. And I’ve been checking to make sure you’re still breathing every now and then.”

“Were you disappointed that I was?” he teases.  “Still breathing?”

“No. I was pleasantly surprised. I’d miss you if you weren’t around anymore. How are you feeling?”

“I’m…confused…”

“About what?”

“What day is it?”

“It’s Tuesday. Why?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your date? That was Tuesday, wasn’t it? Or am I imagining things? Did I imagine that? You having a date with some other guy? Please tell me I was imagining that.”

“It’s not a date. It’s a ploy. To get information. But yes, that was today. But I said something came up and I asked for a rain check.  So I could stay here with you and take care of you.”

“I bet that just broke your boyfriend’s heart. Did he cry?”

“Don’t be a smart ass,” she pecks his cheek.  “You have any pain?”

“A bit,” Tyler admits. “My head is killing.”

“Do you want some of your meds? The doctor says you can take up to eight a day. If you need one…”

“No.  I don’t want to take anything. I take enough.  I’m fine.”

“You have to stay on top of the pain. Or else it’s going to be too much and…”

“I’m fine,” he insists, then smiles.  “But thank you.”

She settles down next to him, turning her body into his, arm across his stomach, head on his chest. And he wraps his good arm around her, his palm softly stroking her arm.  

“Thank you,” he says once more, and drops a kiss on the top of his head.

“For what? The blow job in the shower? I bet that’s what helped you sleep so well.”

He grins. “Yeah, that was…nice.”

“Just nice?” she pouts dramatically. “That’s insulting. Way to hurt my feelings.”

“It was better than nice.  Way better than nice. None of the nurses I had in the hospital ever did that for me.”

“All your nurses were elderly women with hairy lips and unibrows,” Esme points out.

“You made sure of that. Didn’t you. That I wouldn’t get any hot, young nurses. You wanted to be the only one giving me sponge baths and helping me to the john.  And giving me blow jobs behind the curtain.””

“I can’t believe you even remember that,” she blushes and buries her face in her chest.  “It was only a couple of times.”

“Excuse me? It’s was several times. And we did other stuff.  When there was like a month left before I was released. What are you so embarrassed about?” he chuckles, and runs his hand over her hair, settling it on her lower back.  “It was hot. Insanely hot. Worrying about getting caught? That just made it even better.”

“That seems like forever ago,” she muses. “It’s only been five and a half years. Millie’s going to be six. She’s going to be in school full time.  The twins will be half a day. So you’ll just be stuck at home with me and Declan every day.”

“And the new baby.”

“There isn’t a new baby.  Yet.”

“Not for lack of trying. And there could be. It could be why you haven’t been feeling well.”

“Tyler, let it go.  I am not pregnant.”

“How would you know? You haven’t even taken a test.���

“Because I know my body. I know how I felt before I found out about the other three pregnancies I’ve already been through. This is not the same.  This is stress and worry and being homesick. This is not a baby.”

“Well we could make one hundred percent sure either way if we just got a test and….”

“Tyler James, I swear to God. Let it go.  Why are you in such a hurry to get me pregnant? What’s the breeding kink you have all of a sudden? You turn forty and this is what it does to you?”

“It’s not a kink. And it has nothing to do with how old I am. I just…I don’t know…it would be nice. To have another kid. One last one.”

“You said that about the twins, too. You were one hundred sure you didn’t want any more when I had them and then low and behold…”

“In all fairness, I never said I wanted another one when you got pregnant with Declan. You were on the pill. We were being careful. It just happened. So I actually did stop at the twins. It’s your body that decided it wasn’t finished it. So if you should be blaming anyone, it’s yourself.”

She sighs. “You’re insufferable.”

“I just think it would be nice to have one more. It’s not a kink. It’s not because I’m getting older. It’s because I love you and I love having a family with you. It’s my legacy. They’re my legacy. I want to leave something behind that carries on my name.”

“You have three sons already that will always have your last name. So…”

“It just would be nice to have a big family. That’s all.”

“We already have four. How big do you want it be?”

“I think we agreed we’d have one more. So why are we arguing about this? I don’t want to argue about this. About anything.  I’m just saying, if you would just take a test, we’d find out for sure if you are. That’s all.”

“You know, just for you, because I love you and because you’re annoying the shit of me, I will buy a test and take it. Okay? Does that make you happy?”

“Yes. It always makes me happy when I get my way.”

“You really are an insufferable shit head,” she laughs, and kisses him, then tucks her head into the spot between his neck and his shoulder.  

“Well you knew that when I asked you to marry me and you still said yes, so what does that make you?” he presses his lips to her forehead, then drops his head back and closes his eyes. The pain is excruciating; spreading over the entire side of his head where the wound is, the stitches feeling impossible tight and stiff.

“I think it was a smart decision. You’re not the easiest person to live with, but I think I’ve mastered it. And I like having you around and I’d miss you like hell if you weren’t, so…”

“I’m stuck with you.”

“You’re stuck with me,” she confirms.

“There’s way worse fates than being stuck with you, that’s for sure. And we make really cute kids.”

“Yes,” she smiles. “We do,” she rubs his stomach softly, then slides her hand up to his right shoulder…the bad shoulder…and uses a fingertip to trace the roman numeral tattoo that graces his skin.  “Tanner told me to tell you that he loves you and misses you.”

“Holy shit, you mean it only took him four years to acknowledge he has another parent?”

“Listen, Mister Rake. You’re already the favourite of the other three. Let me be the person one of them at least loves the most. Give me that much. I spent seven and a half months of sheer hell baking those twins, the least you could do is give me one of them all to myself.”

“Nope. Sorry. I kicked in all the good genes. And for the record, I did all the work while making them.”

“Oh bullshit! You have a very different recollection of when they were conceived than I do. It took all of like five minutes. Ten at the most. You were loaded that night. Like fall on your ass drunk. I’m surprised you could even get it up.”

“I could get it up with just a stiff breeze in the room. And you weren’t complaining at the time, were you. No. Did I get the job done? I got two jobs done. I got you off and I got you pregnant. We could say three jobs if we take into consideration I knocked you up with twins.”

“If you say super sperm, I will punch you in the side of the face and give you matching black eyes,” she warns, the nestles her face into his neck once again.  Pressing a kiss to that short, yet thick scar. That one that will forever serve as a lasting reminder of the day she’d nearly lost him.  “You scared the shit out of me,” she says.

“Are we talking about Dhaka or…”

“Well obviously Dhaka. But today. It felt like hours went by. Until you came back to the car. And then I saw you bleeding and torn to shit and…”

“I’m sorry,” his hold on her tightens, his hand resting just above her right buttock. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What happened, Tyler? What did they do to you?  What did you do to them?”

“It doesn’t matter, okay? All talking about it will do is upset you. And I don’t want to upset you so…”

“At least tell me what did this,” her fingers gently locate the beginning of the freshly stitched wound. “You don’t have to give me any other details. Just that one.”

“Esme…”

“Please?” she pulls back to look at him. “Tyler…please…just give that at least.”

He sighs. “It was a shovel. One of those garden ones. The metal kind.”

“What the fuck? Are you serious?

“Just the edge of it caught me. Not that whole thing. That would have knocked me out.”

“Or killed you.”

He nods.  “I killed two of them. With it. The shovel.”

“You have a fetish for gardening tools or something?”

He can’t help but chuckle at that.

“How’d you kill the other two?”

“Broke their necks. With my bare hands. I did what I had to do.  To get back to you. I had to make sure you were okay. That you were safe.”

She places a hand on the side of his face, fingertips pressing into his beard, encouraging him to look at her. Then she smiles and presses a kiss to his lips. “What did you see? When you found that Erin girl?”

“I’m not talking about that. You don’t need to know.”

“It was that bad?”

He nods, then swallows down a lump of emotion sitting square in his throat. “It was that bad,” he confirms. “And I knew, if we got caught there, if you got caught there, what they did to you would be a hundred times worse. And what happened to her? That was horrific. So if they got their hands on you…” he shakes his head, draws in a shaky breath. “…if would have been so much worse and they would have made me watch and…” he has to stop in order to compose himself.  “…and I didn’t want that to happen. I didn’t want you going through that.”

“Tyler…” she whispers, and then pecks his lips before climbing into his lap. A knee on either side of his hips, her hands wound around his neck. “…what did you see?”

“I can’t,” he shakes his head. “I can’t tell you. Because I know how worse it would have been for you. And I know they would have made me watch and when I think about that…I can’t…I just can’t…”

She uses her thumbs to clear the tears off of his cheeks, then draws his head down to her chest. “It’s okay,” she says, her fingers combing through his hair.  “It’s okay now.”

He nods in agreement, then wraps both arms around her waist. Not caring about his injured shoulder or the pain that shoots through him.  

All he wants to do is hold her. Forever.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #sanctuary #chris hemsworth character

[camillemontespan]

top of the world [interview with raleigh carerra]

I love writing interviews from character’s perspectives, sort of like a study of them. I got to say, you know when words just flow and it’s like the character takes over? Raleigh did this for me. 

Think of this as in the same universe as my Raleigh fanfic ‘Oblivion.’ Master list here:

Oblivion 

Warnings: Discussion about drug abuse. 

I’ve tagged those who liked the teaser of this, hope that’s okay. 

@emichelle @omgjasminesimone @ibldw-main @katedrakeohd @ritachacha @boneandfur @moonlightgem7 @gardeningourmet @pug-bitch @msjpuddleduck

************************************************************************

Watching Raleigh Carrera perform to an arena of 60,000 people is a masterclass in performing art.

For two hours, he owns the stage.

His voice, that husky, deep voice that has made countless fans swoon, fills the arena. He plays his guitar as if it's an extension of himself. He crowd surfs, basking in the love of his loyal fans. He takes the time to talk to the audience, though everytime he pauses, they all scream.

Raleigh Carrera has allowed Tidal Magazine to shadow him for one week on his US tour. The tour will last a month, taking in gigantic arenas and small dive bars alike. I'm interested to see what the singer is like off stage. Is he as wild as he appears on the tabloid covers or is it all an act?

The show ends with fireworks and Raleigh jumping back into the audience for a final crowd surf. From the screens placed around the arena, I can see the look of pure joy on his face as he is carried over his adoring fans. He is in his element.

***********************************

Later, we are sat in the back of his tour bus. His entourage are hanging out at the front, high with adrenaline from Raleigh's performance. They consist of his manager, publicist, stage manager and back up musicians. His publicist seemed keen to stay in the room with us but Raleigh told her to 'relax at the front with a drink.'

He has showered after his energetic concert. Now, he's changed from his signature ripped jeans and holey vests into sweatpants and a navy sweater.

'Hope you don't mind,' he says politely. 'I like to chill out after being on stage.'

He sits cross legged on a slouchy sofa. Yet, despite wanting to be chilled, Raleigh is anything but. His fingers are always moving, as if playing an invisible guitar. Occasionally he will play with his beaded bracelets or tap his hand on his leg making a drum beat.

The energy that infuses his performances still flows through him even when he is in private. He pulls you in.

I thank him for allowing me to write this profile on him. Raleigh grins. 'No problem,' he says. 'Happy to have ya.'

Is he a good interviewee, I wonder? Many music journalists have commented in the past that Raleigh puts them through their paces. He is known for discussing the most risqué topics and is brutally honest. I tell him this.

'I think I'm refreshing,' he says. 'So many musicians I know are really funny about interviews, you know? They always need a publicist present or they give a list of everything they won't talk about. They're scared that their image will be put under the microscope and they'll be judged, so they draw all these red lines around them. What's the point? If you're gonna be in the spotlight, you need to be prepared to deal with all the shit. All the ugly stuff. That's life. You can't pick and choose.'

I'm surprised at how vocal Raleigh is on this subject. He shrugs. 'I'm just saying,' he continues, 'you sign up for this life when you sign the dotted line on that contract. You give up your rights to a private life.'

We are silent for a moment as I consider his words. Raleigh laughs and let's out a groan. 'Was I brutally honest there?' he asks. 'Jesus Christ, sorry. I get all passionate about shit.'

Raleigh's life is certainly not private. Ever since he arrived on the rock scene, Raleigh has been a riot. Tabloids are always plastered with his image and latest antics. Pictures of him falling out of nightclubs, kissing girls and giving the finger to paparazzi are part of his image. To place a stereotype on him, he is the 'Bad Boy' of the LA music scene. Does he agree with that?

Raleigh chuckles. 'I guess? Look, we all conform to a certain image. You see those new singers from those talent shows and when they record their first record, they're told what image they have to have. Like.. Okay, take Britney Spears. She became huge when she was 17 thanks to that Hit Me song, but what made her iconic was the school girl outfit but she was still innocent right? She had that 'you can look but can't touch' vibe. So many artists now do that and it's not real. It's all fucking plastic.'

Does he conform to his bad boy persona? He shoots me a lazy smile. 'What do you think?' he asks.

I think he does.

'Then you're right,' he says. 'Except I was always like this. I always broke the rules. My label picked up on that and told me to keep doing it but ten times harder. So I did. I pushed it to the point where I forgot who I was. I guess I'm still trying to work that out..'

He trails off.

Raleigh has been vocal about his stints in rehab. He was first admitted to The Priory three years ago, citing cocaine addiction as the reason. He stayed in rehab for two months.

'It worked for a while,' he tells me. 'It really did. I was so eager to get clean and stick to it. But this industry.. It's a cess pit. You're clean for one day and turn you go to an awards show and people are snorting that shit in the toilets. You go to these parties and its getting passed around like fucking party favours. You can't get clean in this business. '

I suggest that maybe he stops going to these parties. He leans back and scrutinises me. 'That's quite naive,' he says. 'You need the parties and the people otherwise you'll be dropped. You need to remain on the radar of this industry because if you're not careful, one minute you're on top of the world, the next you're in the gutter. I fought so hard to become noticed and to make music for the world to hear. I live to make music. All the shit that comes with it.. I gotta accept.’

He shoots me an apologetic smile before beginning to speak again.

'Music is everything to me,' he says quietly, playing with the bead bracelets wrapped around his wrist. 'I know I act like an asshole a lot of the time, like I really fucking push it.. But I never forget how much I owe music my life. It keeps me alive. Nothing else compares to it.'

I ask if there is anything - or anyone - else that makes him feel similar emotions. He cracks a smile.

'You want me to say her name, don't you?' he asks wryly. He leans forward, his brown eyes focused on mine.

'I'll talk about anything you want me to,' he says, his voice steady. 'But I'm not going to say her name. Given what she's going through right now, she doesn't need anymore press attention.'

He leans back. 'But yeah,' he finally says after a long silence. 'She does.'

He means Marina Cortez.

She was his mentee on the reality music show One in a Million. Although the show producers wanted her to be paired with Raleigh's fellow judge, Avery Wiltshire, Marina was often photographed spending time with Raleigh.

Rumours of a blossoming relationship swirled around them. As the magazines continued to publish articles on the potential romance, Marina went from strength to strength in the competition.

She won the competition a year ago and released her first record to critical acclaim. The music showed her soul and it was a far cry from the bubblegum pop that dominates the music scene.

All she needed was her guitar - which used to belong to Raleigh himself - and her voice that sounded like summer. Deep, throaty vocals and passion flooded her singing, making her a front runner at awards shows.

She was on top of the world. Soon after winning the show, she and Raleigh performed a duet of their hit song, 'Senorita' at the AMAs - the performance went viral. The following day, Raleigh and Marina confirmed they were in a relationship in the most millennial way possible - an Instagram post.

But that all changed six months ago.

Raleigh and Marina broke up.

She was pictured spending more time at night clubs. She fell out of taxis and photographers took up skirt pictures of her. She was filmed screaming at paparazzi who surrounded her car. The final warning came from a picture taken of her at a party with her credit card in her hand and cocaine on the table in front of her.

Marina checked into rehab but discharged herself two days later. The drama surrounding Marina Cortez continues with new news stories being published every day.

Right now, we are watching a young girl who is free falling and nobody is there to catch her and the one person who seems to care about her is sitting right in front of me and he won't say one word or do one thing about it. 

He cuts our first interview short. 'We'll talk tomorrow,' he says tightly. 'We're at the hotel now anyway.'

We all head into the first hotel of the tour. Raleigh slams the door of his suite in my face.

******************************************************************

Raleigh is at my hotel room door the following morning brandishing a takeaway cup of coffee at me. ‘I’m sorry for being a dick last night,’ he tells me with a weak smile. ‘Can we walk and talk to the tour bus?’

I grab my suitcase and we walk together through the hotel corridor.  We talk about the upcoming concert this evening but when we reach the tour bus, the mood changes and becomes more serious.  He gestures for me to take out my dictaphone so this conversation will be on record. 

‘I’m sorry I got pissed about Marina,’ he says when we sit down at the back. ‘I wasn’t pissed at you. I was pissed at myself. I’m always pissed at myself these days.’

I ask why. 

‘Because it’s my fault Marina has fallen on hard times,’ he explains, surprising me. ‘I’m the one who introduced her to drugs and parties. It’s all my fault. I feel guilty about it every day and we broke up because I wanted to save her. In my own fucked up way, I thought that if we ended things, she would be safe from me and my influence. But I didn’t realise that she was too far gone. Too far down the rabbit hole..’

He looks away and sips his coffee. His hands are shaking. 

‘Anytime someone mentions her, I feel those guilty emotions all over again and I get mad. I take it on the person that’s beside me instead of taking responsibility. I’m the reason why Marina has been in rehab. It’s all my fault.’

I ask if he has been in touch with her since they broke up. He shakes his head. ‘No. Her manager won’t let me, nor will her publicist. I get it. If we’re in the same room together..’

They’ll fight?

He laughs dryly. ‘No, actually. The opposite. The complete opposite.’ 

I ask if they have broken up before. Raleigh nods. ‘Yeah but only for like, a week or so and then I was at her door begging for a second chance. It was all very romantic and angsty. But when we got back together, I was determined to keep on the straight and narrow. I wanted us to be together for the long haul. I loved her.’ 

Had he loved anyone before her? 

‘Do I look like the loving kind?’ he asks me. ‘No. So it was a big deal when I realised that I was head over fucking heels for this girl. She’s honestly the best thing that ever happened to me and I fucked it up.’

I tell him that it wasn’t his responsibility to keep her clean. He shakes his head now. ‘It was,’ he says. ‘I knew this industry. I knew what it was like and instead of warning her, I sat with her and showed her how to take the first hit of coke. I’m a fucking nightmare.’ 

Raleigh is known for his songwriting. His songs bear his soul and open a window into his life. A lot of his music focuses on lost love; is Marina an influence?

He swallows. ‘She was,’ he says. ‘My song Addicted is about her.’ He breaks off to sing softly under his breath: ‘I'm not afraid of dying but I am afraid of losing you…’ 

This is a different side to Raleigh that I was not expecting. The wild, carefree rockstar who is plastered on billboards and has legions of fans screaming his name is completely different in private. He lives his life to the full and isn’t afraid to show his flaws; but right now, I feel like I am talking to a different person. 

‘Marina makes me different,’ he answers when I tell him this. ‘When we were good, we were fucking good. I was more kind. I was a good guy. But when we were at our worst, we brought each other down. So really, it’s a good thing we’re apart. But I see these photos of her and the headlines and fucking hell, I just.. I feel helpless. Fucking helpless.’ 

He sighs and stands up. ‘I’m gonna yell at my manager to get everyone moving,’ he says. ‘Talk after the show tonight?’

When we meet his team, he is jovial, clapping his friends on the back and fist bumping. Cigarettes are lit, insults shared and jokes are made. Raleigh is back to being the Raleigh Carerra that we all know. His vulnerability has been put in a box, locked away. 

*****************************************************

Tonight, he plays the arena with his usual spectacular showmanship. The concert is a sell out and his fans chant his name, sing along to his songs and scream constantly. Raleigh relishes it. He even spontaneously grabs a fan and brings her on stage, singing to her. She cries. 

When we’re back in the tour bus after, Raleigh is giddy with adrenaline and can’t stop talking about the show and how it was the best concert he’s performed. Joints are passed around and Raleigh lights up, inhaling. I watch as he soon becomes more relaxed, his voice softer, his eyes bloodshot. 

We reach the hotel and his entourage slope in, ready for their beds. Raleigh takes a moment to compose himself, placing his hands on his knees and his face down turned to the floor. 

 ‘I miss her,’ he whispers, his voice cracking. 

I don’t ask him to elaborate. I know who he means. 

*********************************************************

The next day, we’re back in the tour bus and Raleigh is writing another song. His writing is haphazard, a messy scrawl that I can’t decipher. His fingers are quick and he writes out lyrics as if he has pulled them out of water. His ideas come fast and he writes for two hours, occasionally stopping to drink more coffee or to ask me what I think of a certain line. 

He works hard. Too many musicians his age are reliant on ghost writers but not Raleigh. He puts in the time and effort, laying down his soul on the page.  When he takes a break, I ask him what made him want to be a singer. 

‘I loved performing as a kid,’ he tells me, smiling. ‘I would always put on shows for my mom. It was just us, you see. Single mom. Dead beat dad who abandoned her when she got pregnant with me. Asshole. But I would  sing for her and she would film me. I hope she’s got rid of the tapes, pretty embarrassing if she ever shows them to potential girlfriends..’

Marina never met his mom?

He doesn’t blanch at the mention of her name; I think he expects me to bring her up now. ‘No,’ he says. ‘My mom doesn’t live in LA.’

I ask where she lives but he won’t tell me. ‘She’s my mom, I’m keeping her private,’ he says, but fairly. ‘I’ll just tell you that she’s a stand up woman. The OG.’

He was in a boyband when he was younger but split off from them to pursue a solo career. I ask him what prompted the decision. 

‘I didn’t want to be forced to dance those awful routines and sing songs that someone else wrote,’ he explains. ‘I wanted to forge my own path and make my own identity. I know it was a dick move but I wasn’t cut out for boyband life. Fuck that.’

Raleigh is one of the best in the business right now. His star burns bright. I tell him he made the right decision. He smiles warmly and bows his head. ‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘That’s really nice. I’m just glad I get to do what I love. I want to keep doing it until I die. I’m gonna be like Keith Richards. Fucking legend.’ 

************************************************

He plays his next three shows even better than the last. Everywhere we go, his voice is chanted around the arenas and my ears are buzzing from the sound of girlish screams. I wonder how he copes with this level of fame.

‘You roll with it,’ he tells me when he’s getting ready for the performance. ‘One day, all of it will be gone. So right now, I’m just trying to live in the moment.’ 

On the last night I have with him, he sings his song Addicted which is about Marina and the audience hold up their flashing orb lights that are part of the merchandise. The arena is filled with gold light from the orbs and I swear it looks like Raleigh is surrounded by a galaxy of stars. They sing along with him, echoing his words about Marina back at him. 

******************************************************

As this article was being prepared for print, media outlets worldwide were shocked to find out that Marina Cortez was admitted to hospital. After further investigation, it came to light that she had overdosed and nearly drowned in her bath tub. Thanks to her publicist, she was found before tragedy struck. 

Raleigh cancels the last leg of his tour as soon as the news breaks. Fans p are divided. Some post abuse about him on his social media, telling him that Marina is a waste of space and not worth it. They call him weak.  Others call him the perfect boyfriend. Some beg for them to get back together. 

I’m watching the news when the bulletin announces that Raleigh has arrived at the hospital where Marina is being looked after. I watch as he exits his car and barges through the throng of paparazzi. He is wearing sunglasses but his face looks drawn and his lips are set in a tight line. 

I spent quality time with Raleigh but nobody can speak for him. But from my experience with him, I think he is going after the one thing he loves that is equal to music in his heart. 

I wish them both all the luck in the world. I hope Marina finds her way back with Raleigh by her side. I’m sure she will rise again, like a phoenix, and she and Raleigh will blaze a trail of fire together,  on top of the world, right where they belong. 

#raleigh carrera #raleigh x mc #Platinum fanfic #choices platinum

[winterisakiller]

Get Better - Chapter Eighteen

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 18/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between.

Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for being an absolute godsend in regards to this story. I would truly be dead in the water without you.

So so so sorry for the massive delay in posting. Again. My January hasn’t been much better than my December. I got sick and lost my voice and writing just, once again took a back burner to real life. But here we are, the end of this particular journey. Thank you so much for coming along with me and embracing the mess that is Tom and Cath. I hope you enjoy. 

Tag list: @tinchentitri @noplacelikehome77 @theheartofpenelope @blacksuitofdoom @wolfsmom1 @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @just-the-hiddles​ @theoneanna​ @hiddlescastle​ @nonsensicalobsessions​  @echantedbytwh @alexakeyloveloki​

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 Trepidation filled Cath as she turned the corner and onto the quiet street where Tom lived. It was a truly beautiful area, traffic calmed and tree lined. Had it been any other day and any other situation, Cath would have let herself stop and truly take it all in. But the need to do this, to sit and talk with Tom, whatever the end result may be, was something she could not let herself ignore.

 Before she’d consciously realized it, Cath found herself standing before the black metal gate which surrounded Tom’s terraced home. She paused, letting her eyes wander up towards the house and took a deep breath before reaching for the buzzer. The gate clicked open almost instantly, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. She took a brief moment to collect herself before pushing the gate open and heading quietly up the path to the front door.

 Nerves stayed her hand and she rocked uselessly on her heels, staring at the dark front door. Get a hold of yourself. Cath took another deep breath, raised her hand, and knocked decisively on the door. A loud bark erupted followed swiftly by a stern male voice and Cath cracked a small smile quite without her consent.

 Footfalls sounded towards the door and then she watched as it was pulled open. Tom stood in the doorway, his face an impassive mask though his eyes were a storm of emotion. There were dark circles under his eyes though his clothing was neat and unwrinkled and his hair was still damp enough to stick to the sides of his neck. Behind him she could see Bobby bouncing excitedly, determined to greet the latest visitor.

 Cath raised her eyes back towards Tom and offered him a soft smile.

 Tom nodded and stood to the side. “Come in.”

 Wordlessly, she complied, stepping into the dimly lit entryway only to be pounced on by an enthusiastic Bobby who barked gleefully, licking at her hands. A startled laugh fell from her lips and she gave the spaniel a quick scratch behind the ears as Tom told him sternly to stop and sit.

 Tension filled the space between them, thick enough that Cath wanted nothing more than to dart back out the door and forget this as nothing more than a bad job. But she rallied herself, she was many things but coward, she hoped, wasn’t one of them. She raised her eyes to Tom who gestured once again towards the lounge. They made their way silently into the room, Tom settling into a worn but comfy looking chair and Cath the couch adjacent.

 She could feel his eyes on her and it did little to help the nerves fluttering haphazardly in her belly. Taking a deep breath, Cath clasped her hands in her lap and raised her eyes to his. “I wanted to start off by saying thank you for letting me have time to process what you told me yesterday. And I also want to apologize for leaving the way I did. For not giving you a chance to really agree before I left, that wasn’t my best move ever and I am sorry for it.”

 Tom blinked at her. “Cath,” he started, forcing himself to smile though she could tell it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You had every right to leave after that. I dumped all of that on you without any real warning…and that wasn’t right of me either.”

 She shook her head, “No, I asked for an explanation and you gave it.” Tom looked as if he wanted to protest but Cath held up a hand to stop him. “Anyway, that isn’t the point. Yes, I asked for time but I shouldn’t have just left as I did. I can’t take that back, but I am sorry for it.”

 He nodded, mutely, though it was clear that he wanted to interject.

 Cath looked down at the hands folded in her lap and took a deep breath before allowing herself to continue. “Tom…”

 “It’s fine, honestly,” Tom started, interrupting her. He refused to raise his eyes to hers and Cath felt a sinking panic in the pit of her stomach. “It was far too much to just have dumped in your lap and I can completely understand that. This isn’t what you signed up for and I understand. We can be friends, just friends, I promise you I’m completely fine with that. “

 “Dammit, Tom, just stop! Please!”

 This brought Tom up short, he sat staring at her in confusion.

 Cath took a deep breath and worked to unclench her hands. “I didn’t say any of that so I would greatly appreciate it if you would frankly stop putting words in my mouth.”

 Tom blinked at her in bewilderment but wisely kept silent.

 “Yes, it was a bloody lot to take in and yes, it threw me for a bit of a loop, I cannot and will not deny that. I mean…God, honestly, yes for a bit it did scare me…Some of it still does, but fucking hell, Tom, that is my problem and not at all yours. Yes you’ve done things I know you are less than proud of, and things that gave me pause, but I’ve been up half the night thinking about everything and I came to the conclusion that what’s past is past. You’ve done those things and that cannot be changed, but they don’t define who you are. They don’t change who you are to me, not on a fundamental level. Yes, they go a long way to explain a lot of what’s happened between us, but they don’t change the fact that you are still you.”

 She paused, taking a moment to breath before carrying on. “And the fact that you were completely open and honest with me when you didn’t have to be tells me more about you as a person than anything you’ve done in the past.” Cath smiled warmly at him, reaching out briefly to rest her hand on top of his. “You didn’t have to tell me any of that. I would never have known otherwise. But you did. And that, above all, tells me a great deal about what this,” she gestured vaguely between them, “means to you. I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t worry me, the fact that you’ve cheated in the past. Because that is a very hard limit for me. I can tolerate a great many things but cheating…that is not one of them.”

 Tom swallowed thickly at her words, she watched as the thinly veiled panic raced through his eyes and felt her heart squeeze at the sight.

 “But you were honest about it,” she carried on, hoping the conviction in her words would penetrate his own panic and he would see what she was trying to tell him. “And you didn’t have to be. Tom, I didn’t know you then and I cannot speak to who you were or your rationale but I feel like I at least have the measure of you as you are now and I trust that if we do this…If we try and you find that there is someone else whi catches your eye, you’ll be honest enough to tell me and end things before they get that far.” She paused and took in the confusion, guilt, and pain painted across his features, try as he might to mask them. Reaching out, she rested a hand on his knee. “I’m not saying I think you will. I’m saying I believe you know enough about the pain and destruction dishonesty can cause to not do so again.”

 She smiled softly at him as the confusing jumble of emotion flashed in his eyes. Neither spoke for several moments. Finally Tom seemed to come to some internal decision and swallowed thickly.

 “Why?”

 The question hung between them; an awkward, uncomfortable thing.

 “Why what?” Cath countered, refusing to pull her gaze from his.

 Tom clasped his hands before him, shifting uncomfortably in his seat under Cath’s gaze. “Why take the chance on me? I…Not only have I fucked things up, sometimes massively, in previous relationships…” Cath moved to protest, but Tom cut her off with a firm shake of his head. “My life isn’t easy. I am a workaholic at the best of times, I’m away from home more often than not, and the attention, the scrutiny…It’s not something that I want for anyone. It’s hard enough to live with just as me. And anyone even remotely attached to me gets dragged into it. My friends, my family…And if we do this…If what you are trying to tell me is that you want to try to do this with me, then I need you to know…I need you to understand what that would mean for you.”

 He took a deep breath, “If we do this I need you to understand that I can’t control what is going to be said about you…About us. I can do everything in my power to lessen the talk, but I can’t stop it. The press…Some of the fans…They can be brutal. And it’s one thing when it’s me they go after. I hate it, but it’s unfortunately a part of this life and I can ignore it, for the most part. I don’t check things online, try to limit my interaction with social media…But when its someone I care about…They will pick apart your life, your past…Whatever they can find to suit whatever narrative they choose to believe. They will say untrue things about me to you to get a reaction, to get a story. And as much as I want to, I won’t be able to shield you from it all. If this were just about us, and nothing else…”

 “But it’s not just about us. And I know that, Tom. Better than you seem to think I do,” Cath interjected, her tone even. She took a steading breath, carrying on before Tom could interrupt. “There are a lot of reasons why choosing this, choosing you, is not the smartest thing. I have thought long and hard about them and I fully admit that this scares me. I know it scares you and I understand that. But I also know that if I walk away I would be letting that fear dictate my life and I cannot stand for that. I don’t know where this is going or if it’s going to end up blowing up in my face, but I know that I still want to try. I think this could be worth it. And I think you are worth taking a chance on because you are a good man. You aren’t perfect, you are flawed and human. You don’t always do the right thing but you try. And that is all anyone can really do. So what I’m saying is yes, I want to see where this leads us.”

 Tom sat in silence for several minutes, his eyes dropped to the hands clasped in his lap. Cath fought the urge to demand he say something, anything, knowing he needed his own time to process what she’d said and what it all meant. “Are you sure?”

 He’d uttered the words so quietly, Cath wasn’t certain she’d actually heard him. It took her several moments of her own to respond. She nodded her head with decision. “Yes, Tom. I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.” Cath reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing it lightly. “I can’t say there won’t be times I have doubts, that I won’t get scared and question this…Us…What we’re doing. And I can’t say that I’m not scared now, that the idea that if this goes badly you would be the one with the power to seriously fuck with my life…Not that I think you would,” she added hastily, seeing the growing look of panic in his eyes. “I don’t think that you would ever do that, but it doesn’t change the fact that when it comes to power dynamics, the odds aren’t heavy vested in your favor. I’ve seen relationships between actors and crew implode in spectacularly horrid ways and I’m not naïve enough to think that it can’t happen to me. But I want to try…We keep dancing around this and trying to fight it or to ignore it is just…It doesn’t work. It’s driving us both mad and I just want to be happy. Even if it’s just for a little while. I want to try, if you want us to.”

 “I do,” Tom whispered, his eyes still focused on his hands. She watched as his shoulders rose and fell with the deep breath he took. His eyes rose slowly towards hers as he squeezed her hand in return. “I just…I don’t want to hurt you and I’m scared that no matter how hard I try I’ll end up doing just that…”

 “We can’t ever know for certain how things are going to work out. And yes, you very well could end up hurting me.” He flinched, though Cath knew he’d tried to hide the reaction from her. She simply squeezed his hand tighter and smiled softly as she continued. “But I could just as easily end up hurting you. All we can do is try our best and be honest with each other.”

 Tom nodded, “I know…It’s just…”

 “I know.” Cath smiled softly at him, understanding what Tom was struggling to put into words. They were both scared but, she hoped, both determined to try despite it. “We’ll figure it out, Tom. One way or another.”

 He smiled softly at her in return, pulling his hands slowly from hers and rising to his feet. Cath fought to suppress the rush of fear that he was once again going to run. She didn’t think he would, not really, not now, but the small part of her still uncertain of this whole affair wasn’t letting the thought go easily. She let out the breath she was holding as he tentatively settled himself beside her on the couch. She could feel the nerves flowing off of him in waves and knew he must sense her unease as well. Without a word, he took her hand in his once more. They sat once more in silence, this time far less oppressive one.

 The warmth of his body heat seemed to bleed into her own and Cath felt a nervous excitement flutter through her stomach. She raised her eyes to his once more and found herself lost the in the swirling emotion she saw in their blue depths. His breath seemed to hitch and so did her own. Wordlessly, she felt him lean in slowly. So slowly. His lips were a hairsbreadth from hers as he whispered, “May I kiss you?”

 “Yes,” she breathed as his lips pressed gently to her own. The kiss was gentle, almost hesitant at first. Nothing like the first kiss they had shared, all impulse and longing. His lips were warm against hers, softer than she remembered. Cath let her hands raise, resting them gently on his shoulders, wanting to increase the contact between them. The hand he’d rested underneath her chin slowly slid down her neck, then her shoulder before settling on her waist, it’s twin snaking itself into her hair as Tom pulled her closer.

 The kiss deepened and Cath moaned in surprise at the contact and then at the sweep of Tom’s tongue in her mouth. Hers tangling with his moments later as her own hands threaded through his auburn curls, pulling him closer still. Need, hot and demanding, coursed through her and Cath let herself melt into Tom. She pulled him closer still, feeling herself fall backwards against the couch, pulling him down with her.

 Just as suddenly as it began, she felt him pull away. She couldn’t bite back the groan of frustration at his abrupt distance. Confusion and concern spread across her features as she slowly pushed herself back into a seated position and watched Tom who’d settled back onto the couch, a noticeable distance between them.  

 Tom reached out slowly, tentatively, his fingers cradling her face. Cath fought to school her features as he began to speak. “I have a horrid habit of rushing far too quickly into things and they always seem to burn out just as quickly. I don’t want to make that mistake again with you. This…You are different. I want this to work. Does that…Am I making any sort of sense?”

 Cath felt a quiet smile spread across her face as understanding dawned. She nodded slowly at his words. “You don’t want to jump into this relationship without taking the time to build something solid to grow from.”

 He smiled back, relief and understanding lighting his features. “Exactly. I want to do this right because this, you, are something special.” His fingers traced along the line of her jaw, smiling at the color she knew must be spreading rapidly across her cheeks. “This is important and I refuse to risk it by pushing too hard or too fast, I’ve made that mistake before and I refuse to do so again. Not this time. Not with you. Is…Is that alright?”

 Slowly, Cath nodded. “It is.”

 Tom took her hand and squeezed it gently, his eyes locking on hers. “So we’re doing this?”

 Cath nodded in agreement. “We’re doing this.”

                                                             —

 The June sun beat down warm and bright against her head, a stark contrast to the cold of the iced latte she held between her hands. The past few weeks had been nothing short of wonderful; small moments stolen here and there between shows, walks in the park with Bobby, evenings spent curled up on the couch watching movies or simply talking. With the play winding down, Cath found herself looking forward to the open future. Tom had at least seven months before he was due to start filming for Loki. Seven months of possibilities. The idea was both exhilarating and frightening.

 They’d managed to keep the relationship between them quiet enough. Lorna knew (there hadn’t been any way to keep what they were doing a secret from her as she’d nearly screeched her head off the next time she’d seen them together), as did Charlie and Zawe. Cath was sure a fair bit of the crew had their suspicions though they seemed to let well enough alone.

 Meeting Luke had been…daunting. The man had been warm but cautious, wanting to make sure both she and Tom knew just what they were getting themselves into. He hadn’t been shy about letting her know just what a relationship with a well-known public figure could entail. “I’m not trying to scare you away,” Luke had assured her, “not by a long shot. I’ve not seen Tom this happy in a very long time…But I need you to understand just what you are going to be in for. Forewarned is forearmed and all that.”

 They’d come up with a strategy, of sorts, on Luke’s insistence. They would carry on as they were for as long as they could. So far they hadn’t been spotted and for that they’d been grateful, things were still too new between them to risk the interference of the world at large. But when the world finally did intrude, and they all knew it would it was only a matter of time, Tom was adamant he wouldn’t hide her…Hide them. Nor would he flaunt it. A simple statement would be released giving Cath’s name, a few details about how they had met, and that they were together. Simple and to the point. Cath had been in agreement, though the idea of being in the public eye even adjacently was unnerving.  

 “Penny for your thoughts?” Tom’s warm voice cut through the haze in her mind.

 Cath jumped slightly in startlement before smiling up at him. “Sorry, just enjoying…All of this.”

 Tom’s echoing smile was radiant. “It’s wonderful, is it not?” Beside him Bobby barked, his tail wagging fiercely against the metal leg of the table, and they both broke out into laughter. “Oh hush you,” Tom admonished, with a shake of his head.

 Leaning down, Cath scratched the top of the spaniel’s head. “He just wants to make sure he’s not forgotten, don’t you my sweet boy?”

 Bobby barked again.

 Tom laughed harder still. “I see how it is.” The sharp ring of his mobile erupted from his pocket and Tom let out a long, low groan as he pulled the device out. His agent’s name flashed across the screen. Confusion knit his brow as he slid to answer the call, mouthing a quiet “sorry” towards Cath. She nodded in understanding. “Yes, Michael?”

 His brow furrowed further the longer his agent talked. Under any other circumstance Tom would have been shouting from the rooftops. New York City. Broadway. It had been something he’d dreamt of…Something he hadn’t been sure would ever happen. And now it was. They wanted to move the show with himself, Charlie and Zawe to Broadway for an eight week run starting in August. Tom wasn’t sure what he’d said to Michael as he ended the call, he hadn’t been able to commit, not yet…Not without talking with Cath…Oh god, Cath. His eyes flicked up towards her confused face.

 “Tom, what’s going on? Are you alright?”

 He swallowed thickly, running a hand through his hair. “They want to move the show. To New York. To Broadway. For eight weeks in the fall.”

 Cath blinked; surprise, confusion, and delight spreading across her features. “Oh my god, Tom! That is…Broadway? That is amazing.” She smiled brightly at him. “I cannot believe it. Are Charlie and Zawe going as well?”

 Tom nodded. “They want all of us.” He took a deep breath. “If I do this, it means I’m leaving in less than two months. For four months.” Tom raised his eyes to hers, confusion and uncertainty swimming in them. “This is everything I could have dreamt of…But if I do this it means leaving you and we’ve only just started. I just…”

 Cath reached out and took his hand, squeezing it tightly with her own. “Tom, you can’t turn this down. You know you can’t.” She smiled softly at him. “Don’t you even think about it. This is a fantastic opportunity, you know that. And you will be fantastic, all of you. I know it and so do you. And we,” she paused and squeezed his hand again. “We’ll make it work.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddleston x orignal character #tom hiddleston x oc #get better fic #Tom and Cath

[cubeswhump]

Defy Fate; Reanimate, part 1: The Pieces of Osiris

Gonna make it clear that I got “Defy fate / Reanimate” from this song. This story takes inspiration from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein but I kinda took the barest base of it and ran wild.

For much of my childhood, I was dead set on being a forensic pathologist. Then I got autistic burnout which turned into a nervous breakdown and had to reevaluate my life plan. I still have a huuuuuge love for forensics/pathology and I finally put it to use. A bit too much use. You’re gonna learn about rates of decay today.

Note: Part 2 is already written and will be posted tomorrow or the day after.

Tagging @more-miserables and @brutal-nemesis

Warning for gore, self-harm (not done from depression or misery), terminal illness, whump of a minor (via flashback), death (death is a whole ass focal point of this story so be warned), drugging, creepy whumper (like super creepy), consensual mildly-NSFW stuff that doesn't go anywhere, semi-professional surgery, dismemberment, disembowelment, general grossness.

Dearil was a constant; Lorelai barely remembered life without him. He showed up in first grade an awkward little boy who didn't speak a word of English and she was the happy helper with dozens of gold stars who took him under her wing. But they grew up and he learned English and gained confidence while Lorelai retreated into her shell.

Dearil seemed the type of kid who would be bullied relentlessly: openly gay, overweight, embraced his feminine side with pinks and purples and earrings, grew his hair longer than any boy at school, could tell you every plot point of Bleach and Naruto but couldn't follow a conversation, did these things with his hands that were later identified as stimming. However, he never held his tongue and had this air of confidence that even the mean kids respected. It was quiet, studious Lorelai they picked on, but no one dared bother her when big Dearil stood next to her. When chemotherapy made him lose his hair when they were sixteen, some classmates even shaved their heads to show support.

They stayed close even Dearil repeated eleventh grade because health complications made him miss so much school. They stayed nest best friends even when Lorelai graduated six months early, when he took a gap year, when Lorelai got into medical school. Even when the dreaded Boyfriebds stuck their feet in.

The two shared an apartment while Dearil worked on a degree in business and Lorelai was kept busy as an assistant in a morgue and full-time student. They had big dreams, but Dearil's were much more feasible: he planned to open a bakery that exclusively hired neurodivergent teens and young adults. Lorelai's plans?

"They only don't want to mix magic and medicine becahse the pharmaceutical companies will lose money!" she growled, glaring daggers at the emailed rejection of her thesis.

"People fear what they don't understand. I mean, science can't explain it and it's pretty fucking crazy," Dearil replied, shrugging. "If I had to explain it, I'd say it's kinda like equivalent exchange in Fullmetal Alchemist, right? I don't really get how it works. But you're smart. You're strong-willed. You'll do great."

She didn't get his anime comparisons, but she could get lost in the sould of his voice. If she could bottle it she would drink nothing else for the rest of her life.

Then another Boyfriend came along and she heard that voice less and less. She hated everything about Frankie: the way he zipped around on that noisy motorcycle (and how dare he wear the only helmet while Dearil rode around unprotected), his spikey hair, his smug smile, his grating laughter, his leathee jackets, his lips on Dearil's.

She refrained from hexing him. She wasn't a bad person who would use witchcraft to cause harm. Her acts were subtle and harmless: placing red rose petals in Dearil's pockets and shoes and placing petunia petals in Frankie's.

"I don't know what the flowers mean but I'm guessing it's some passive-aggressive bullshit," Dearil huffed. "Cut it out."

He got a bit angrier when she tried to cut off a chunk of Frankie's stiff hair. It was just for a bad luck charm, nothing lethal, but she pled the fifth on that one.

"You're like a sister to me," Dearil reminded her that day after Frankieeft. He meant well, but she wanted to scream and cry and break things. But she forced herself to smile.

There was a thought that haunted her every day. She would be the maid of honor, perhaps wearing teal if Dearil's current hair color was anything to go by. She would have to give a speech and congratulate the grooms. Watch them kiss. It should be her under that altar! She should be wearing a white gown and veil!

She resigned to life as a lonely spinster. She'd be married to her job.

That was the worst thing she imagined happening, until life hit her like a truck... and the delivery was a truck.

Dearil was so late getting home again. Any minute now he'd call and tell her he was spending the night with Frankie. And sure enough her smartphone rang, but it wasn't Dearil.

"What's up, Kensia?" she asked, but the only response from Dearil's younger sister was sobbing. Instant dread. "Kensia? Come on, use words. I'm not a mind reader."

So Kensia spoke, and Lorelai would have preferred she didn't. She didn't remember getting off the phone. She didn't remember much of that night at all, but she couldn't forget all of it.

***

She almost didn't go to the funeral. She didn't want to wake up ever again. She thought about joining Dearil. But she got out of his bed, staggered to her bedroom, and searched her closet for appropriate attire.

The black dress was old and wouldn't cover the runes carved into her arms, but what did it matter if someone got uncomfortable? Fuck everyone else. The dress was tight in her waist and she bitterly realized that it would fit soon enough now that Dearil wouldn't be baking sugary treats all the time.

His mother came to greet her dressed in all white. The whole Jean-Pierre family wore white, even Dearil's dad whose wardrobe consisted of grey suits and plain ties. Catheline wrapped her up in a bone-crushing hug and Lorelai wanted to push her away and shout, "I'm not here for you!"

A cheap pine coffin for someone so great. What a disgrace. It was closed too. A closed-casket funeral was the most logical solution but it hirt Lorelai to know she wouldn't see his beautiful face ever again. That beautiful face was pulverized. Even Frankie, who was wearing a helmet, was killed so Dearil didn't stand a chance. He was killed on impact, painlessly.

Painless for who? It hurt so, so much.

She could scarcely hear the spoken eulogies over her own sobs, and declined to give one herself. Dearil's own mother wound up consoling Lorelai throughout the ceremony, rocking the young woman in her arms like a child. No words were shared until the end when Catheline walked Lorelai to her car.

"Traditionally in Haiti, we gather to mourn for nine days. It's a social gathering where we eat and drink and talk, nothing stiff and formal," Catheline explained through her own tears, smoothing Lorelai's messy ponytail. "You're part of the family, cheri. We want you to join us."

Like she wanted to waste her time at some social event. The only thing she wanted to do was lie in Dearil's bed and smell him on his pillow. But she couldn't shut Catheline down like that.

"Why nine days?" she asked.

"That's how long the soul takes to leave the body - that's what we Vodouists believe. We gather for nine days to assire the soul ascends safely and doesn't get stolen away by any petro loas. Evil spirits."

A pause. Lorelai got an odd look on her face. "Was he embalmed? Were his organs donated?"

Disgust flashed across Catheline's face for just a second. She took a deep breath. "We believe that harm dealt to the body after death harms the soul, so we don't usually embalm or donate organs. Dearil did want to donate his organs, you know what he's like, so we respected his wishes. He wasn't embalmed. Why do you ask?"

The question had a bit of an edge. She sniffed and dabbed her eyes.

Lorelai wasn't crying anymore, though her eyes were rimmed with red. "Catheline... If his soul is still on earth, could his body be saved?"

Catheline frowned. "What are you..." Her face contorted with horror. "No! I have nothing against you doing witchcraft, but this is where I put my foot down. Interfering with the soul? My son's soul? Imagine the pain he'd be in! How could you even think of that?"

Lorelai looked away from her. "I'm sorry... I'm just really... I'm not thinking. I wasn't thinking. I wouldn't do anything to harm her."

Cathine took her hands. "Look me in the eye. Promise me, Lorelai. Promise me you won't tamper with anything you shouldn't."

Lorelai sighed, looking into those honest brown eyes, eyes so much like Dearil's. "I promise."

***

She promised, but above-ground burial only existed to tempt grave robbers. It was a blessing; the universe wanted Lorelai to do this.

What wasn't a blessing was the man standing outside the mausoleum. Fucking Catheline must have held her suspicions and reported on them. The guard's head snapped her way, and she bolted.

"Hey!" he shouted. "What do you think you're doing?"

Every step toward her car, every step toward her front door was a knife twisting. She was leaving Dearil behind.

She went to the gathering to keep up appearances. She drank much-needed wine and ate Haitian foods even when she felt like the smallest bite of food would make her vomit. She and Catheline said nothing of their conversation, and the older woman hugged her a bit much for her liking.

The witches in the forums turned on her. They called necromancy evil and her plan foolish.

People like you are why people think so badly of us! wrote WitchBitch666. No one had any tips but MagickalShells wanted updates on her progress.

No one had done anything like this. At least, not in written history. She was completely on her own. But it wasn't the first time she did something crazy woth magic, though the forums were more help the last time.

The migraines. The vomiting. The paranoia. The way he couldn't catch his breath. Finally, the seizures. After the appointment with the neurologist, Dearil had called Lorelai crying.

Four tumors across his brain, all cancerous. Two inoperable, the structures too important and delicate.

Dearil needed her like he did when they were younger, but it wasn't enjoyable this time. The doctors estimated that he had ten months to live. They only offered to attempt to shrink the tumors with chemotherapy and "focus on his quality of life."

He slipped into a coma toward the end, and Lorelai grew desperate.

Lorelai knew little about witches. Heathens, Mama and Pedro called them. They voted for increased limitations on magic at any election - local, statewide, and nationwide. They wanted it to be outlawed entirely.

But she knew witches did things that couldn't be explained with science. Maybe science wasn't everything. So she turned to the forums.

Once a week she would rip off a fingernail with her pliers. She would sneak into Dearil's hospital room and put the fingernail under his mattress, then slice into his hand with a razor blade and draw a rune behind his ear with his blood.

Hospital staff increased security when they found the harm done to his body hand and the blood on his head, but he miraculously woke up after two weeks. He still had cancer, though, and her work wasn't done.

"You've been doing what?" he had cried when he was coherent and cognizant enough to understand, staring at the deep, angry red slash across his palm. She lunged for his hand and he stepped back. "And let me see your fucking nails!"

"Come on, you're dying," she pointed out. "What do you have to lose?"

He cringed, but they both knew she was right. So he would let her take his blood and sleep with finger and toenails under his pillow, though he shuddered to think about. She lost weight and grew pale as he regained what his mother called "bebe fat" and life returned to his eyes. The tumors shrank with each X-ray.

"You're doung this, aren't you?" asked Catheline, very seriously, and Lorelai had paled. But when the teenager bowed her head, Catheline pulled her into a hug. "Thank you, thank you, cheri. But don't kill yourself to save him."

Week eighteen. Lorelai's nails were growing back ever so slowly and terribly brittle. With two toenails left, she had to wonder what offering she would give when she ran out.

But with the next X-ray, it was announced that the boy who was supposed to be dead in mere months was in remission. He walked with a limp because of the damage the tumor did to his cerebellum, but physical therapy got that fixed up. He returned to school, behind a year, and Lorelai became fixated on influencing western medicine to adopt witchcraft, if not becoming the first doctor to use magic on her patients in the United States.

The guard was there the next night, but she made sure she wasn't seen. She linked herself to the ground and, urging him to hurry up and take a bathroom break or something. Dearin's brain was the most important thing to be kept, but the brain is one of the first things to go, ces collapsing just minutes after death. Every minute wasted waiting for this stupid guard was cellular death. Losing her Dearin.

An illusion spell. He ran to investigate the vandals kicking at tombstones and each footfall was like feet stomping on Lorelai's face. She was never so happy to feel pain though.

A spell to unlock the door would be a waste of energy. One of the runes on her chest was already seeping, and she needed to save her blood for tomorrow. She picked the lock and slipped inside as the "vandals" led the guard here and there, running him ragged.

Dearil didn't deserve to be in this house of nobodies. Name after useless name among the granite on the wall until she found a Dearil Jean-Pierre. She pried off the granite slab with her crowbar, and then the concrete under it. She dropped the concrete on her foot and puffed out her cheeks to keep in the profanities. The concrete broke in two, and she expected her throbbing toe did too.

She gripped the sides of his coffin and tugged. It took a minute to budge. Dearil wasn't very tall, and neither was Lorelai, but he was wide and heavy. Her face turned red and she grunted with effort. She jumped back as his coffin fell to the ground. It was still jammed shut, and she wished they still nailed coffins shut. She didn't know what this sealant wasade of, but it was rough.

Running out of time. Guard could come back. Hurry up.

The lid came out, and the smell. Oh god, the smell. She gagged, but it was nothing compared to when her flashlight landed on what was left of her friend.. No, that actually made her swallow back bile.

He was missing one arm, only a little mangled stub remaining in his empty sleeve, but that wasn't the problem. His face, God, his face. The left side was caved in, skin and dreadlocks torn away to reveal the gore. He didn't have much of a left eyebrow, his jaw leaned to one side with missing teeth gaping at her, and what was left of his nose was a bloody pulp with the little stud nosering glinting far from where his nostril was supposed to be. And his eyes, his gorgeous eyes... Grey-blue scleras, left eye protruding from the socket with black spots around the iris.

"Oh god, Dearil..." She rubbed her eyes, willing herself to get a grip.

This was the easy part; all she had to do was transport him. But how was she supposed to fit a 5'7", 185 pound man in an, albeit large, suitcase?

It felt so wrong undressing him. She wanted her first time seeing him nude to be consensual, but not one "yes" left his bloated lips. She tried not to look anywhere inappropriate, flushing under her mask.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she whispered as she produced the bone saw from her gym bag. She held the flashlight in her mouth as she sliced into one thigh.

Rigor mortis had passed and he was soft abd squishy, but the femur was still rock solid. It took a bit of force and then she moved to the other leg. The smell increased tenfold, and ut got even worse when she swutched ti a scalpel and sliced off strips of his wobbly, pudgy belly.

His neck was already broken and any damage could be fixed, so she pushed his chin down to his chest, avoiding looking at those glassy eyes. His remaining arm was okay to stay. It was easy to angle and wrap around his head, and she secured the limb with tape before cramming him into the plastic-lined suitcase.

She put the lid on the coffin and lifted it back into its divot. It was much lighter now, only containing clothes, flaps of skin, and two legs, and there was no evidence if tampering at first glance. She pushed the two concrete halves together and into their place on the wall, shoving the granite slab in after. They kept sliding and threatening to fall, so in the end she went around prying off and smashing dozens of slabs. With so much damage, they won't know where to start, and if they find other caskets unaffected, maybe they won't check his...

This plan was falling apart. No it wasn't. It wasn't, it wasn't!

Connecting her senses to the grounds, she found the guard outside. She held a lighter to her hand, feeling the warmth, imagining a small explosion and fire. Runes bled onto her shirt. The guard ran off to check the exosion at the other side of the graveyard, shouting. Feet trampling her face.

It was just an illusion. She wasn't one for destruction magic or vandalism. Well... The mausoleum said otherwise about vandalism, but as she walked away it was out of sight and out of mind.

She still struggled to lift Dearil into the passenger's seat of her car, having to roll the windows down to deal with the odor. She plugged her phone into the auxiliary cord and played his favorite music. She was never a fan during his life, but now she loved the sound.

She didn't go to their apartment. No, that would be far too predictable. She still had a key to Mama and Pedro's beach house, and when she checked earlier that day she found that they hadn't chamged the locks. It was only an hour's drive and she could make that to and from work, school, home without running out of gas money.

The roar of waves crashing on the shore competed with the obnoxious rumbling of a heavy wheeled suitcase on cobblestone. She got inside and turned on the lights. The table was new, very nice with polished wood. She didn't feel at all remorseful putting Dearil's odorous, leaking body on the pristine surface to operate. Preserving his brain was frst and foremost.

Face-down, his eyes didn't stare at her. She sliced around the top of his scalp, separated the skull, and then sliched straight down to his nape. She severed his optic nerves and then focused on removing the brain. The brainstem had to stay intact, so she removed the uppermost vertebrae it was attached to.

In her hands, she held Dearil's mind, the most important thing she had ever touched. Faintly grey and sagging with a chunk taken from the left. She struggled to figure out what larts were damaged the most. She reslized, with complete horror, that there wasn't musch left of Broca's area. Not his voice! I need to hear his voice! She'd have to fix that.

Wernicke's area looked okay though, so hopefully he would be able to read abd write without problem. His parietal lobe as a whole didn't look so good, and he already jad sensory issues... Hopefully it wasn't too bad.

She wished she could do an X-ray and see how the inner structures had decayed, especially his hippocampi. He needed to remember her!

Focus. She needed to focus on the task at hand. Whatever the damage was, nothing would be fixed if she just stpod there staring.

Her medical school had gotten on board with new postmortem brain preservation techniques. Liquid nitrogen, cryonics, blood substitute. The dust was mixed into the fluid in the tank, and now she allowed Dearil's brain to be submerged. She dripped fresh blood onto the rune under the tank and for just a second, the water glowed.

The human body is home to tens of trillions of microorganisms that keep you healthy. Though these populations are necessary for human survival, a single one getting out of control would be devastating. That's where the immune system comes in, suppressing overgrowth and keeping these populations in check.

But dead people have no immune system; bacteria runs rampant.

Lorai soaked a new mask in winter mint rubbing alcohol and pulled it on, and new gloves. Her goggles and apron stayed on, and sue set to work, starting the scalpel at his shoulder and ending at his breastbone. Mirror the stitch. Slice down his mutilated stomach to the start of his pelvis.

Peeling back the skin, it was clear his liver and gallbladder were no more; his insides were stained yellow-green with bile, and the winter mint did little to mask the smell of ammonia and hydrogen sulfate. She had to get rid of his stomach before the hungry microbes could do any more damage, scarcely breathing as she cracked open his ribcage and transferred internal organs to a garbage bag.

She couldn't exactly drag him outside and hose him down, so so brought him to the downstairs bathroom with the detachable shower head. He was so light now.

She rinsed him with the shower head. Water ran yellow-green, and then finally clear, though his insides still were definitely not a healthy red-pink. She wrapped him up in the fluffiest towel and brought him to the kitchen. She'd removed all the shelves in the refrigerator during her first trip to the house so she had no problems sticking Dearil's mostly empty husk inside.

And then she lit a few scented candles and went to bed.

***

The head medical examiner was a lonely older man. His wife was either dead or left him (Lorelai wasn't sure which, and she didn't care), and his only company was the corpses he sliced open. Lorelai saw the way he looked at her, eyes hungrily taking her image in. In the days after Dearil's accident, she started making moves on him even though it ft so, so wrong.

She smiled at him throughout today's shift. She washed her hair for the first time in days and let it hang lose around her face during her break. She even put on makeup, though it took a few video tutorials to get it loose.

Toward the end of her shift, she sidled up to him, whispering, "Hey, Viktor..."

He glanced at her. "Hm?"

"I'm not wearing any underwear."

He went red up to the tips of his ears.

"Come home with me," she said in a whine, fingers stroking his arm. "I'm staying at my family's summer home. I'm the only one there, all alone and sooo lonely."

"Fuck yes," he breathed.

"You ever have sex on the beach?"

"I'm getting hard just thinking about it."

She forced herself to smile instead of grimacing. "You ever been with a witch?"

"You?" His eyes widened, but then he smiled. "I bet you're magical in bed."

Ew ew ew.

"You've got that right." She placed a hand on the unmarked chest of the man on the table. His skin was the wrong shade of brown, but his hair was perfect. She already had a nose on ice that she'd taken during Viktor's break. It was a bit too dark as well, but it was just the right shape for Dearil. "How about we take this guy with us?"

Viktor recoiled. "Excuse me?"

"Come on, you said you want a magical night. Do something crazy!" she exclaimed. "You don't have to fuck him or anythibg, and we'll have him back by morning. It's not like he'll mind. It's a witch thing."

Viktor put a hand to his salt and pepper hair, eyebrows knitting together. A few emotions clouded his features before he came to a decision. "If you say so. But if we get caught this was your idea."

"Noted. But I promise you'll enjoy yourself."

He helped her wheel out the John Doe on one of the cheaper stretchers no one would miss, faces obscured by masks and a darkness spell. They stuffed the corpse into the tiny trunk of her car. Viktor pressed his lips to hers suddenly, bushy mustache scratching her. He smelled like literal death and whatever offensive oil he rubbed into his mustache so he wouldn't have to smell as much decay.

He couldn't keep his hands to himself during the whole drive, rubbing her thighs, kissong her neck, trying to unhook her bra and getting excited when he found out she wasn't wearing one. She wanted to slap his hands away, shout that her body belonged to Dearil, but this was a necessary step.

Her mind screamed but her lips purred, "Ohh, that feels so good."

He still hadn't settled down when they were taking the Doe into the house. "Talk dirty in Spanish, chica," he murmured.

"I was born in Florida," she sighed. "I don't speak that much Spanish."

"Don't you know any?"

"A bit. Do you?"

"I can say hola and count to ten," he laughed. "My Spanish classes probably ended before you were even alive. Come on, say something."

"Estas... Estas tan muerto," she said. "Eres solo, uh, um... un peón."

"That's so hot," he moaned, and she bit her cheek to keep from laughing.

Viktor's smile became a frown when they walked into the house. He set the John Doe on the table while Lorelai went and locked the door. He quickly sniffed his shirt when she wasn't looking, but the smell wasn't coming from him. And the bed in the adjacent living room was a bit of an odd choice, though he could appreciate the silk and headboard. And the ropes. This was gonna be a fun night.

Lorelai came back, a smile playing on her lips. She put a hand to his chest. "Come closer, Señor. Permítame whisper in your ear."

He leaned close, his smile tentative now. Her lups were so close they tickled him just as a sharp pain struck his neck.

"I never liked you," she whispered, pressing the needle in harder as he tried to pull away. He shoved her away and staggered back, staring at the clear fluid still in the syringe.

"What the fuck did you just do to me, you crazy bitch?" he screamed, clutching bis neck. Her smiling, round face had gone hard and cold, expression neutral.

"Oh, calm down. It's just lorazepam," she said. "They use it on unruly patients all the time. It's probably the safest injectable sedative."

Ge hit out at her but she easily dodged the sluggish attack. She pushed him down onto the bed, tying up his wrists. He still kicked his legs until she tied his ankles too. He was finally silent when she wrapped the duct tape around his head and moury several times.

"Don't look at me like that," she said, tying ger hair back. "Alexa, play Bury Me at Makeout Creek by Mitski, full album."

It's beautiful out today

I wish you could take me upstate

To the little place you would tell me about

"When you'd sense that I'd want to escape," Lorelai sang over the muffled screams and shouts, pulling on her mask, goggles, gloves, and apron. Viktor could only stare at the saws, scalpels, drills, and needles that she left on the table before she disappeared into another room.

No one could hear him scream.

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #surgical whump #medical whump #magical whump #tw self harm #self harm tw #torture #torture tw #female whumper #female whump #male whump #male whumpee #female whumpee #tw death #death tw #creepy whumper

[bunnvii]

so this is how onision fucked me up

while i’m not an anti o blog, i am pretty active in the anti-o community, usually through anon but sometimes i publicly use my blog name through asks and reblogs with my opinions/additions.

i’ve talked quite a bit about how gregs words and negative videos about mental illness has affected me, but i feel like i have so much more to say about how this man really hurt me. i’ve been seeing a lot of posts of people just talking to each other about how greg has affected them, so i just thought that maybe it was time for me to really write it all out.

just a small warning, i’ll be talking about anxiety, depression, and really negative thoughts in this, so if that’s something that’ll be potentially triggering, go ahead and scroll past this.

so, let’s start from the beginning. i was young, maybe 11-13, when i started watching greg. when i started watching his videos, i was already in a really bad place. i had just gotten out of a really toxic friendship, and i was generally secluded because i was in online school and was starting to experience anxiety and depression. my home life also wasn’t the best at the time for reasons i’m gonna keep private.

so, there i am, a little isolated girl, struggling with mental illness in a house where i felt like i couldn’t talk about it because of the struggles my family was going through. and then i find greg, this brutally honest feminist who’s passionate about things like the dress code, something i was also passionate about because before i went into online school, when i was in public school i always had shitty experiences with the dress code.

he talked about how important it was to speak up about r*pe and abuse, and i agreed with him on plenty of things, so i really liked his content. it felt nice to listen to someone rant about something i agreed with, to listen to someone make points that i would’ve said myself. i look back and realize a lot of what he said was pretty basic shit that everyone agreed with, but my little secluded self thought this was mind blowing.

now comes the bad shit. like i said, my home life wasn’t the best because my family was going through a lot and i felt even more secluded, i felt like i couldn’t really talk about what i eas going through. i was depressed, i barley got out of bed, i didn’t find joy in things i once did. i was struggling with anxiety, i couldn’t go out in public because it scared me. i barley did anything because of these two things.

in the suggestion box, i see videos talking about depression and s*lf h*rm. i watched them and was... taken aback by what he was saying. i thought he was going to be kind, i thought he was going to talk about the importance of getting help, but no. he sat there... showing blurred but still graphic images... and he laughed at them. he laughed at people venting, he laughed at people hurting themselves. he said that if you can take a warm shower, if you have a bed to sleep in, then you’re pathetic and a whiny bitch for doing thag to yourself. he talked as if that was basic knowledge. that i should agree with him, that it was obvious. so, i started following that mindset.

sometimes, i would be laying in bed, just feeling like absolute shit. i would be feeling alone and worthless. wanna know what i’d tell myself?

“you’re being fucking stupid. you have a good life, stop being whiny. stop being pathetic.”

i would tell myself these horrible things, because that’s was greg said. he’s always right, yeah? he’s brutally honest, so i should face the truth and listen. i’m pathetic for feeling sad and depressed, i’m pathetic for not being able to go out because of my anxiety, i’m pathetic for feeling alone...

i’m pathetic for not wanting to be alive. i’m whiny and stupid. i shouldn’t feel like this, i’m being selfish.

that mindset stuck with me for years. i would just... yell at myself. for years and years that’s how i would handle my mental illnesses, that’s how i would handle my problems. i would talk down to myself. i would feel even more worthless, more pathetic, more lonely. i would feel stupid and weird, i shouldn’t have anxiety, everyone i interact with things i’m weird and hates me because greg said so.

finally, i found the anti o community and i finally stopped supporting greg. i stopped watching him, and started hating him. but that didn’t make my mindset better.

to this day, my mindset will still slip into that. sometimes, i’ll talk down to myself just like i always would. it’s something i continue to struggle with and i’ll continue to work on it and begin to work on it with my therapist once i meet them.

i know my story isn’t as bad as others. i know that this may seem like nothing compared to other stories, but it’s my story. this is how it affected my life, this is the mark it’s left on me that i continue to struggle with. there are a lot of personal factors that i didn’t want to state publicly, but this was the best way i could describe what greg did to me.

so, greg. if you ever happen to see this

you’re a monster. i hope you know that and tell yourself that everyday of your life, just like you made me tell myself i was a selfish and pathetic bitch everyday of my life.

fuck you greg.

(i’m gonna tag a couple blogs that i’m always really active with. i guess i just want to let these blogs know that they were people who helped me hate this man, helped inform about how horrid he was, and are just generally nice people that i love interacting with, even if it is through anon!)

@basement-critics @phoenix-wright-against-onision @thestarks-against-onision @onioncritic (if you don’t wanna be tagged in this, just ask and i’ll remove it)

#anyone who would like to tell their own story feel free to #anyone who would like to add their thoughts feel free to #i hope you are all doing well and having a good day #i just wanted to get my experience out there. #anti o #anti o community #anti onison #anti onion #anti onion boy #anti onion man #onision